Sestina
by Lyricoloratura
Summary: In space, you need your friends. Jim's been taken hostage, the Enterprise is threatened in enemy territory, and the crew must risk everything to try to save their captain. Will everything be enough? Slow-building ensemble piece; not abandoned, I promise.
1. Literary Endeavors

_Everything one invents is true, you may be perfectly sure of that. Poetry is as precise as geometry. _

~Gustave Flaubert

* * *

"You say they're doing _what_, Spock?" Captain James T. Kirk's expression held more than a hint of incredulity as he looked across the chess board at his first officer.

"It is as I just told you, Captain."

"No. None of this 'Captain' shit, Spock. We're off duty - for the hundredth time, it's _Jim_."

"Very well, then... Jim. Lieutenant Uhura and Lieutenant Commander Sulu have decided to establish a literary magazine for the crew of the Enterprise."

Without looking up, Spock leaned slightly forward to move his remaining knight before continuing.

"Though I, like you, was taken by surprise by the idea at first, it seems to be inherently harmless – especially since we are spending so much time in deep space, and the crew has more free time at their disposal than they might otherwise. In fact, I understand that there are many crew members who are already enthusiastically preparing entries to contribute to the first issue."

"Huh." Pausing briefly, Kirk moved a bishop. "You're right – it does sound harmless enough." He shook his head in disgust as one of his knights fell prey to Spock's next move. "But I was just with Sulu last night, and he didn't mention it at all – wonder why not?"

"As to that, Captain – Jim - Mr. Sulu expressed a concern to Lt. Uhura that your awareness of his participation in this new endeavor might cause you to mistake him for a feline... though truly, I am not sure why that would be the case."

Now Kirk was utterly baffled. "Mistake him for... Spock, what _exactly_ did Uhura tell you that Sulu said?"

Spock steepled his fingertips briefly, recalling the exchange. "She said, 'Hikaru doesn't want to tell Jim that he's in on this, because he's afraid Jim will think he's a pussy.' However, in my opinion, sir, that does not seem like an error you would make."

But Kirk had dropped his forehead into his hand, crowing with laughter. "Spock," he said, raising smiling eyes back to his first officer, "it's a figure of..."

Kirk's expression became suddenly appraising as he saw what might actually have been a twinkle of – was that _amusement_? – in Spock's dark brown eyes.

"...And you _knew_ it was a figure of speech – I'm sure of it." Kirk graced Spock with a blindingly bright, absolutely _delighted_ smile. "You... you were _joking_ with me, weren't you?"

Spock simply stared back at him, expressionless except for one slightly raised eyebrow.

"Jim, you of all people should know by now that Vulcans do not joke." Without further comment, he returned his attention to their game, proceeding to soundly trounce an astonished Captain Kirk in just another six moves.

He did not realize that his captain's concentration had been completely destroyed by the realization that his normally staid first officer had actually initiated an attempt at _humor_ with him. The thought of that warmed Kirk inside, for reasons that he didn't fully comprehend.

The first officer, on the other hand, left the captain's quarters with a vivid memory of that brilliant smile; his meditation that evening focused a great deal on trying to determine exactly why that memory lingered so persistently, and why he found himself wishing so fervently to see Jim smile like that at him again.

...

* * *

...

"So!" Kirk's voice boomed into the mess hall as he entered for breakfast. "We have authors among us! And poets, and... I don't know, what other kinds of literary stuff is there?" He paused, looking around as though he thought someone in the crowd might provide him with an answer. "Well – whatever there is, I bet we've got it all!"

He pulled up a chair to the table where Sulu and Uhura were already sitting. Leaning close to Sulu's ear, he whispered, "Pussy."

Jim laughed, but was cut off with a quick elbow to the solar plexus by his helmsman.

"Jackass." Sulu shook his head and smiled.

"That's '_Captain_ Jackass' to you, Mr. Sulu."

"Yes, sir." He delivered a mock salute, returning his attention to the dish of fruit salad in front of him.

"So, Uhura," Kirk directed his attention to his communications officer, who was looking mildly entertained at the interchange between the captain and his helmsman. "Do I gather that this whole literary magazine idea is your brainchild?"

"Not entirely, Captain." She paused to sip her coffee. "Actually, I was talking to Chryssie Papagiannopoulos a little while ago – don't know if you've met her yet, but she's an ensign who's one of the new nurses in Sickbay." At the captain's nod of recognition, she went on. "She's really enthusiastic about literature, poetry – the whole bit. You'd never believe this, but before she went into nursing school and Starfleet Academy, she got a degree in Comparative Literature from Columbia in New York."

"Well, Lieutenant. That really _is_ saying something, isn't it?" In fact, Jim really was duly impressed. Until then, his only impression of Ensign Chrysoula Papagiannopoulos had been that she was a very tiny woman with an enormous name – and that he frequently, though unintentionally, seemed to intimidate her into replying with squeaking sounds whenever he spoke to her.

_Comparative Lit at Columbia, eh? Hidden depths – go figure. _

Uhura was still speaking. "...her enthusiasm was kind of contagious, and I thought, why not try something like this? The worst that can happen is that it doesn't work out – and that's no big tragedy."

Stealthily, Jim reached over to swipe a chunk of melon from Sulu, who retaliated by trying unsuccessfully to stab Kirk's retreating hand with his fork.

"Go get your own food – Captain Jackass," he grumbled good-naturedly.

"Yeah, yeah – in a minute. But first, I want to hear more about how we're going to get all cultural here. Now, have you come up with a name for this thing yet?"

Sulu and Uhura looked significantly at one another. "No, we haven't, Captain," Uhura admitted. "And it's getting to be a little bit of a problem, because you can hardly have a publication without a name."

Kirk nodded. "Oh, you'll come up with something – you always do." He patted Uhura's arm absentmindedly. "So... do I hear you're accepting submissions already?"

"Yeah, Captain – and some of them are really good." Sulu leaned forward eagerly. "We've got a hilarious piece from Scotty about the virtues of Delta Vega as a vacation destination – you'd love that one – and a lot of other stuff from quite a few other crew members, as well. Some of it's funny, some of it's really pretty touching – and frankly, some of it's in other languages, and I have to take Nyota's word for it that it'll make sense to somebody. Honestly, though, I was surprised at what some of these people were coming up with; I had no idea we had such a bunch of frustrated writers on board."

"So, Uhura, Sulu – are you publishing whatever people turn in?" Kirk had a sudden, speculative gleam in his eye.

"Well, Captain..." Uhura looked uneasy. "I have a feeling I'm going to regret saying this in about sixty seconds – but, yes. We're publishing everything."

The captain stood up, gleefully rubbing his hands together. "This is going to be _awesome_. I haven't done any decent limericks in ages. Damn – how did that one go again? 'There once was a man from Nantucket?' I loved that one!" He pushed in his chair, and started out of the mess hall. "I'll send you a few later!" he called over his shoulder.

Sulu sighed. "Did you notice he didn't even bother to eat any breakfast?"

Uhura nodded resignedly. "Yeah. And he's fixed it so that I don't want the rest of mine, either. God knows what he's going to send us, Hikaru – and we're going to have to put it in, whatever it is."

The helmsman halfheartedly pushed a grape around his plate – then sat up suddenly with a wicked smile of his own.

"Nyota, I think I have an idea. Not for this time – I think we're pretty well stuck with whatever Jim decides to give us – but maybe to keep him from getting any clever ideas for any of our other issues." He stood, gathering his plate and utensils. "Let me talk to McCoy; I think that between the two of us, we can take some of the wind out of Kirk's sails – and have some fun while we're at it."

"Hikaru – do I even want to know what you're up to?" Uhura looked skeptical.

"Definitely not. Far better that you don't have any idea." Sulu patted her reassuringly on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Don't worry – I won't get us court-martialed."

She wasn't a bit reassured when she heard him mutter under his breath,

"...Probably."


	2. Conversations

"_Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will."_

~George Bernard Shaw

...

* * *

...

"So, Bones – have the Literary Luminaries gotten to you yet? You gonna write anything for this new magazine of theirs?" Jim upended the last of his Aldebaran whiskey – which had little to say in its own favor except that it was alcoholic and a lovely shade of green – and gestured to Dr. McCoy to refill the glass.

"Hell, no. You know better than that." He snorted, not meeting Jim's eyes as he poured.

And hoped that denial sounded sufficiently convincing...

To Jim's obvious disgust, McCoy gave him barely a third of a glass full. "Don't give me that look, you big baby. This stuff's expensive, and you've had enough of it, anyway." He replaced the cap on the bottle and returned it to its hiding place behind some antique medical books.

"But you're not here for the whiskey – or I don't think the company tonight, either, are you?" Bones looked appraisingly at his best friend. "Aren't you usually playing chess with the hobgoblin right about this time?"

_Shit_ – was he that predictable... and that transparent? Jim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, usually. But tonight he's with Uhura, helping her translate some poems out of Ancient Vulcan."

"You mean those sour-faced elves actually had _poetry_ at some point? Didn't anybody tell them that's not _logical_?"

Jim snorted. "Eventually, yeah. About the time they figured out that all kinds of other good stuff wasn't logical, either, from what Spock tells me."

"So... Spock's with Uhura." McCoy paused, watching Jim. "Is _that_ why you're sitting here looking like somebody took your favorite toy truck?"

The captain glared back at him. "I am not. It's just that... well, I'm not. So shut up."

"Ah," McCoy smiled wryly. "Of course. I'm obviously mistaken. I can tell by that articulate and mature reply."

Another glare, and silence.

He knew that Jim's mood was only going to deteriorate if he stayed here in Bones' quarters, drinking bizarrely-colored alcohol – years of experience had taught him that. So he reached across the desk and confiscated Jim's glass.

"Out. Get out, now. Stop moping – and_ yes, you are_ – and go do something Captain-y. Or go find Sulu, and you two can go to the rec room and try to kill each other with sharp things. You know – find something that suits your insane, suicidal idea of fun."

"Can't." Jim really did sound like a sulky four-year-old. "Sulu's probably off playing kissy-face with Chekov or something. It's enough to make you want to gag."

The Enterprise's helmsman and navigator, after years of being inseparably close friends, had very recently begun a romantic relationship. Though all of their friends had seen that coming long ago – and were genuinely thrilled for them – the two of them were still in that "brand-new" stage, and there was definitely a limit to how much "young love" their friends could tolerate at any given time.

"Fair enough." As much as McCoy hated to admit it, Jim had a point. "Well, I'm sure as hell not gonna play chess with you – but if you want to, we can watch a vid or something."

Jim's expression brightened for the first time that evening. "Casablanca?"

"I'll replicate some popcorn."

...

* * *

...

Sulu heard an impatient sigh behind him. He knew better than to turn around and see the expression that went with that sigh; he could never resist it when Pavel decided to give him what he called his "puppy eyes".

"Are you going to read those things all night, Hikaru?"

"Of course not, Pav." He glanced over his shoulder – _damn_. Puppy eyes for sure. "Besides, I thought you wouldn't be back for at least another hour – weren't you going to play whoever won the chess game between Jim and Spock?"

The sigh again. "_Da_. I was supposed to, but Spock was busy with Nyota – and the keptin did not want to play without him." Pavel was obviously disappointed at this turn of events.

"Oh, yeah, that's right – Nyota told me she was going to ask Spock to help her translate some old Vulcan poems." Hikaru put down the PADD he was holding – he'd received an encouraging number of pieces for their new magazine in just the past couple of days, and had been trying to read through them in his limited off-duty time.

There were already several entries – obviously from Kirk's account – that were signed simply, "Captain Awesome." He hadn't been kidding; his submissions consisted entirely of raunchy limericks. In spite of himself, Hikaru did think they were pretty damn funny, though.

There was a lot of writing of all kinds to look at and try to categorize – but now that Pavel was back, Hikaru was pretty sure he wouldn't be finishing _that_ task tonight...

"So, 'Karu... are _you_ going to write anything for this thing you and Nyota are doing?"

"Probably not, Pav – and honestly, if I do, I'm not signing my own name to it."

Pavel was finally interested. "Really? Why not? You're a good writer – you shouldn't be embarrassed."

"It's not that. It's just that..." Hikaru knew better than to spill the beans; Pavel, try though he might, couldn't keep a secret for shit. Unless it was important, of course – but this absolutely wasn't, and they both knew it.

Switching off the PADD, he turned his full attention to the bright-eyed young Russian who was currently sitting – and bouncing – on the edge of his bed. "Well, you'll see soon enough. If it works the way it's supposed to, it'll be funny."

Pavel gave Hikaru a slow, sweet smile. "You know, Hikaru – right now, I can probably think of all kinds of better ways for you to get... creative."

Hikaru returned the smile as he crossed the room.

"I have absolutely no doubt of that, Pasha..."

...

* * *

...

"So, the closest translation we have of this one – " Nyota indicated a rune-like series of symbols on the page before her – "is _an'kharh_?"

"Yes, Nyota – though it is not a word in common usage among modern Vulcans, it is still the closest in meaning to the Ancient Vulcan term in the poem to which you refer."

"_An'kharh_ – fear." Uhura looked thoughtfully up form her book. "Do you ever find it ironic, Spock, that though Vulcans are so careful to avoid displaying emotion now, your ancestors seemed to celebrate it in their poetry almost constantly?"

"Ironic? Hardly, Nyota." Though Spock's words seemed dismissive, his tone was strictly conversational. "To me, the emphasis on emotion is an indicator of the volatile nature of our Vulcan forebears – the very nature that caused such strife and dissension among the inhabitants of our planet that only the adoption of the philosophy of Surak and total reliance on logic was able to save our race at all."

"But, Spock..." Carefully placing a satin ribbon between the pages of the old volume – one of a precious few actual surviving books from the lost planet Vulcan – Nyota closed the book and set it aside. "You know as well as I do that it isn't that Vulcans no longer feel emotions; they just find it illogical to express them."

Spock inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Indeed. Your point, Nyota?"

"Well... obviously, I would never want to disparage the foundations of modern Vulcan culture – and I hope you know that – but, is it logical, really, to deny feeling emotions? I mean, think about it, Spock – you designed the entire _Kobayashi Maru _simulation for one sole purpose, which was to, if I remember correctly, 'experience fear in the face of certain death.' _Experience_ fear – _an'kharh_ – to prepare the cadets to be better officers."

Uhura's voice was still quiet, but as intense as the expression in her brown eyes. "Do you see the irony there, Spock? Or is that only supposed to be applicable to non-Vulcans?"

Spock seemed to be focusing intently on some indeterminate point in the distance. "It is a valid observation, Nyota – and one that I myself have spent some time considering."

She watched Spock closely, waiting for him to say more; he did not.

But she knew him – knew him better than just about anybody. Though their romantic relationship had ended over a year ago, they'd remained close friends – and Spock told Nyota things that he might not confide in others. It was this knowledge – this understanding of Spock (to the extent, she supposed, that he could _be_ understood) that made her sit up straight with a sudden shock of awareness.

"Spock. You feel _guilty_ about that – the _Kobayashi Maru_. Don't you?"

"Nyota. Guilt is a human emotion, and as such is illogical. Moreover –"

"Try again, Spock. This is me you're talking to." Leaning towards him, she propped her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in her hands. "You feel guilty for having called Jim up on charges after he hacked the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation – am I right?"

There was a soft exhalation – barely audible – that was almost a sigh. "Perhaps 'guilt' is not an appropriate term, Nyota – but I have in fact had cause to feel regret that I moved so rashly to have Ji – the captain – called up for disciplinary action without having first ascertained his motives."

He met Nyota's eyes, at last. "At that time, I believed that his actions were based solely on a desire for personal glory. In fact, illogical though it seems now, I even initially harbored some suspicion that he wished to hold up the designer of the simulation – which, as you know, was me – for ridicule by having defeated it in the way that he did."

He looked away again, his voice growing quieter. "In the years since then, I have had the opportunity to come to know the captain well enough to realize that I had... greatly misjudged his motivations at that time."

"Spock." Nyota's voice was unexpectedly tender. "Have you ever considered telling him so?"

"I have not." The reply was quick, emphatic. "It would serve no useful purpose to do so."

"And that's where I'm going to disagree with you, Spock. I mean, think about it. Over the past couple of years, you two have become really close friends – admit that or not, it's true. I can tell simply by observation that your friendship is very important to Jim – and I know him well enough to be absolutely sure that he'd be glad to hear that you felt you'd misjudged him back at the Academy."

She reached forward impulsively – but stopped herself before her hand touched Spock's arm. "It would _matter_ to Jim, Spock. _Your opinion of him_ matters – a lot. You should tell him."

Spock rose suddenly – almost impatiently – from his seat near Nyota's desk. "I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Lieutenant," he said, his voice suddenly a few degrees cooler. "However, I hope you will permit me to interact with the captain as I see fit."

_Oooh, now I'm 'Lieutenant,' _Nyota thought. _ I obviously went a little too far this time. _

But she saw how much Jim's friendship meant to Spock – even if Spock himself did not – and if she had to push him a little every now and then to help him advance that friendship, then she didn't mind getting the cold shoulder from Spock occasionally as a result.

"Of course, Commander."

_Two can play that game, my friend. _ "Thank you for your help in translating these poems; I'm sure that they'll be well-received in our new magazine." She nodded graciously.

"Good night, Commander," she said to his retreating back.

_An'kharh. Fear. _ Reaching up to unfasten her high, sleek ponytail, Nyota rubbed her scalp gently – trying to nip a burgeoning headache in the bud.

_How much,_ she wondered, _is Spock still letting fear hold him back - and when will he stop?_

_...  
_

_...

* * *

__**And yes, I did mention that this will start slowly before all Hell breaks loose. While it's doing that, I do hope you're enjoying it all the same – and that you'll let me know what you think!**_


	3. You Must Remember This

_**Disclaimer(s):** It occurs to me that I haven't yet given you the list of things I don't own. I don't own the Star Trek series, any of these wonderful characters (except for the ones I make up myself), the movie "Casablanca," or a Lamborghini._

_I do have a perfectly lovely teddy bear, flannel jammies with rubber ducks on them, and three cats who think they are "helping" me write by lying across my keyboard. And a LOT of coffee._

* * *

_Oh, he's just like any other man, only more so. _

~ Humphrey Bogart as Rick Blaine in _Casablanca_, 1942

* * *

"Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

As the final music swelled and the credits began to roll, McCoy brought the lights in the room back up – and Jim tried, surreptitiously, to get a stubborn piece of popcorn from between his teeth.

"No matter how many times I watch this movie, Bones," Jim said with a wry smile, "I keep thinking maybe this time Ilsa's gonna get a clue and stay with Rick." He shook his head. "I mean, seriously – what woman wants to leave Rick for some dude named Victor? Who even names a kid _Victor_ to begin with, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know, Jim – in this particular case, _Hungarian_ people, maybe?" Bones looked slightly exasperated. "Cutting it a little close to home there, pal – after all, not everybody gets named something studly like _Jim_, do they? I mean, hey – some people get stuck with names like Leonard. And... well, women don't exactly leave Rick for some dude named _Leonard_, either, if you get my drift."

Something in his friend's voice made Jim take notice; he looked up to see a sad – almost desolate – expression on Bones' face that was, unfortunately, all too familiar.

Jim hoped he'd never actually meet Jocelyn McCoy – though now it was Jocelyn Hammond, or some such thing – because he wasn't sure he'd be able to behave in a manner becoming to a Starfleet officer if he did.

Not that Bones particularly badmouthed her – not, really, that he had much of anything to say about her at all – but over the years, Jim had seen, again and again, the damage his ex-wife had left behind.

Most people didn't get a chance to see much past the grim, grumpy facade that Bones presented to the world at large – but those very few who did came to know the loving, fiercely loyal man that was Leonard McCoy.

That was the man, Jim mused, who had pulled him out of innumerable scrapes at the Academy – and who had risked his entire career to drag him along onto the _Enterprise_ with him rather than leave him behind on that awful day two years ago when Vulcan had been attacked.

The man who, when they'd returned as heroes after saving Earth, had been offered any number of prestigious and lucrative medical positions on-planet, but had elected to stay on as Jim's CMO on the _Enterprise_ – despite the fact that he really was terrified of being in space. Who, every day since, had given the four hundred-plus members of the crew the best possible care – fought to keep them alive, grieved for those who couldn't be helped, and fussed and fretted over them all like a particularly cranky mother hen.

The man who completely and unashamedly adored the little daughter who barely knew him, whom he'd had to leave behind – with Jocelyn. Jocelyn, whom he'd loved devotedly, and who had, essentially, torn him to shreds.

The few details that Jim actually had managed to gather on the subject of Bones' marriage had come over the years at various times when Bones had been too drunk to hold his tongue – and Jim had been around to pick up the pieces. The marriage itself hadn't lasted all that long – not even five years – but he'd known, evidently, that Jocelyn would be the love of his life from the moment he'd lain eyes on her when they were both at the University of Mississippi.

They'd been ridiculously happy – or at least, Bones had thought they were – as the two of them started their new marriage, and he worked his ass off to build his new medical practice. If Jocelyn was acting distant or irritable, he was willing to attribute that to homesickness – since she'd had to move from Mississippi to Georgia – or, later, to morning sickness, the stress of being pregnant, the enormous responsibilities of new parenthood.

It never occurred to him – not once – that she'd decided she didn't really love him. Not until the night he'd come home from a 13-hour day at the hospital to find Jocelyn – and little Joanna – gone. She'd gone back to Natchez, to Mama and Daddy's mansion and the life of privilege and comfort that Leonard – who, despite being a doctor, was _not _making the kind of money she'd anticipated – was not providing for her.

She'd responded to his frantic messages by having him served with divorce papers – and he hadn't had the time, the money, or, finally, the heart to fight Jocelyn and the elite team of lawyers that Daddy Beauvoir had hired on behalf of his little girl. Jocelyn got everything she wanted, and Bones was left, more alone than he'd ever been in his life, with the realization that whatever she'd wanted... well, it hadn't been him.

She'd ended up marrying one of those lawyers, and was raising their daughter – dammit, _Bones' daughter _– in a mansion of her own, now. The irony of that situation, Jim knew, had not been lost on Leonard McCoy.

And the cheerful, loving Leonard McCoy who had been so happy to marry Jocelyn Beauvoir had been turned into the cantankerous, cynical, solitary man who used sarcasm to hold everyone at a distance – because, Jim suspected, Bones was pretty sure he couldn't bear to be hurt that way again.

There was silence in the room as the last of the movie credits ended, and Bones switched off the vid.

"You know," Jim ventured quietly, "Nyota's not Jocelyn."

Bones looked at him like he'd grown another head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Really, Bones? You think just because you don't tell me something, that I don't hear about it anyway? You're forgetting where we live – a giant gossip mill, flying through space."

McCoy didn't answer; he just snorted, looking away and slouching farther down into his chair.

"So," Jim went on casually, "You can let me know how accurate this is – correct me when I say something that isn't right. Okay – so, Sulu almost dies on that last away mission a couple weeks ago, and he's in Sickbay. He finally comes around, and Nyota comes to see him – but he's with Chekov, so she doesn't go in. Instead, she runs into you – and ends up asking you out to dinner. Right so far?"

Still refusing to meet Jim's eyes, Bones grunted in response. Undeterred, Jim continued.

"Thank you for the enlightenment, Doctor. So, to the surprise of everyone within earshot – if you can imagine such a thing, there are people listening to the goings-on in Sickbay – you agree to go to dinner with her. Then you and Nyota head off to the mess hall, and are having what appears to everyone nearby to be having a pleasant conversation." Jim paused. "Still right?"

"You know it is," Bones growled.

"And then – here's the interesting part – you evidently, with essentially no warning, just got up from the table and left Nyota sitting there." Jim looked quizzically at his friend.

"I was _there_, remember? Will you shut up about it already?"

"Sure – if you'll answer me this. Why'd you do that? I mean, Nyota's a good conversationalist – shit, she's a good conversationalist in 83 languages – and God knows she's absolutely gorgeous. So why did you –"

"Dammit, Jim – which part of _shut up_ didn't I manage to say clearly enough to you?" Bones' voice was getting louder, and he was beginning to get slightly flushed – which, when he was sober, at least, was a sure sign that he was getting mad.

Then, unexpectedly, he stopped, and sighed – almost like the air being let out of a balloon.

"Okay, Jim – how about this? How about, _I don't know_ why I did it? I just all of a sudden looked around and saw myself eating dinner and having a lovely conversation with the most exquisitely beautiful woman I've ever seen – this charming woman who could have _anybody_, but for reasons known only to God, had actually asked _me_ to join _her_ – and... well, shit, Jim, I just panicked."

Jim looked as though, somehow, he really did understand that – but his voice was stern as he answered. "So... you know you hurt her, right?"

Bones flinched as though Jim had punched him. "Christ, Jim – yeah, I know. But..."

"But _what_, Bones?" Jim was obviously unaffected by his friend's distress. "You think you're the only one with a past? I mean, _come on_ – you were around when Spock broke it off with her last year; you know she's been through a lot of the same shit you've been through. Don't you think it might have taken a little bit of guts on her part to ask you to dinner to begin with? I mean, it's not as though you exactly exude congeniality or anything. And then, you just _walk out_ on her? Seriously, Leonard McCoy. Your mama didn't raise you to treat a lady like that."

At that, Bones, still glaring, finally turned and faced Jim. "So – what, exactly, do you suggest I do about it, _Captain_?"

"Well – an explanation would be the best thing, but failing that, an apology couldn't hurt." Jim leaned forward, speaking earnestly to his best friend – who badly needed some sense shaken into him. "Bones – she deserves at least _that_ from you, wouldn't you agree? And shit, even if you're too freaked out to consider anything else, you could at least try being her friend. Take it from me – it's actually kind of fun, in a perverse sort of way, to hang out with somebody that gorgeous who's also so smart that she can pretty much manage to own you whenever you get into a disagreement."

Which, McCoy considered, was true – he'd watched her hand Jim his ass on more than one occasion, to his own great amusement.

He sighed, again. "Suppose you're right." Which, of course, he was – Bones had, in fact, spent the past couple of weeks feeling guilty as hell for the way he'd treated Nyota. She'd deserved a lot better than that.

"And you've even got a tailor-made excuse to talk to her." Jim was smiling now – the smile that usually meant trouble.

"And... what would that happen to be?" Bones knew he was walking into something – he just wasn't sure what.

"This damn magazine." Jim stood up from his seat on Bones' sofa, stretched, and walked toward the door. "You can find Nyota and talk to her about the thing that you and Sulu are putting together for it. You know – the one I'm not supposed to know anything about."

Bones sat straight up, sputtering. "What? Why – you little bastard..."

Laughing for the first time that evening, Jim turned and left.

* * *

_All right. Those of you who know me (or at least, who are acquainted with my work) know that I absolutely have to get the back story going before I really jump in and start smacking people around. I hope you don't mind bearing with me. Either way, I'd love to hear what you think so far._


	4. Ex Astris, Veritas

_I don't care what is written about me so long as it isn't true._

~ Dorothy Parker

* * *

"Damn, Chryssie – when you brought up the idea of inviting people to write original stuff for a publication, I have to admit that I was just going along with it to humor the new kid; I never in a million years thought that all these Starfleet-types would be interested." Sulu sent a quick, bright smile to the ensign who sat cross-legged next to him, PADD in hand, on Nyota's floor. "Boy, was I wrong."

Glancing up from her own reading, Ensign Papagiannopoulos looked down at the pilot of the _Enterprise_, who was sprawled with casual grace across the floor – and who had, until just a moment ago, been concentrating intently on typing a work of his own. "The response really is gratifying, Mr. Sulu–"

"We've been over this – it's Hikaru, okay?"

"All right... Hikaru. But, honestly, even though I did think we'd get some kind of a response, I hadn't been expecting quite the volume of submissions we've received." Chryssie held up her PADD. "I've got a couple dozen pieces that were sent directly to me – and Nyota tells me that the two of you have each received nearly twice that." She shook her head bemusedly. "I really am kind of overwhelmed."

"No shit," Hikaru agreed. "Did Nyota tell you about Sajadi in Engineering?"

"You mean Badria? Tall, brunette, gorgeous?"

Sulu nodded. "And certified at the highest level in at least ten different forms of hand-to-hand combat. She probably ought to be in security instead of Engineering; she's kicked my ass more times than I'd care to admit." He smiled wryly. "But yeah – turns out that our bad-ass Lt. Badria Sajadi is also one heck of a poet. She sent Nyota – I forget how many, but it was a LOT – of poems. Said she's written over a hundred, or some such ridiculous number. I mean... damn."

He shook his head, still smiling. "Now I know that Badria can not only keep the ship running, but she can also kick my ass and probably make it rhyme while she does it; you've got to admit, that's a little discouraging..."

"Who's going to be kicking your ass, 'Ru? Can I come watch?" At that moment, a smiling Nyota emerged from her bathroom in flannel pants and a t-shirt, with a fluffy white towel wrapped around her hair like a turban. "Did Kirk find out about 'Americus D'Artagnan' already?"

"Nah – or if he did, he hasn't let on to me about it." Hikaru winked at Chryssie. "See, McCoy and I are getting together to create a, well... _less-than-reverent_ piece about our esteemed captain – but we're using a _nom de plume_, for obvious reasons."

The ensign's huge brown eyes opened wider in recognition. "Now that you mention it, I saw Dr. McCoy writing something the other day that I knew wasn't about Sickbay business – especially since he hid it when he saw me coming. So, let's see..." she tilted her head speculatively. "The D'Artagnan reference I get right away – I think the whole ship knows about you and your thing for Musketeers, Hikaru – but, what's the significance of Americus?"

"That's his hometown in Georgia." Nyota spoke softly, seeming almost to have surprised herself as she answered. "McCoy grew up in Americus, Georgia."

Chryssie was impressed. "Wow – you're good, Nyota. I... guess you must know Dr. McCoy pretty well, then?"

Hikaru sat up quickly, looking with concern at Nyota, who was now bent over at the waist, suddenly focusing intently on toweling her hair dry.

He cut in, "She's like that with all of us, really -- she knows it all, and never forgets anything. You'll see for yourself what it's like when you've been on board for a while; we all get to learn all kinds of random details about each other after we've been together long enough."

_If she really __**doesn't**__ know about the awkward shit that went down between Nyota and McCoy, then she must be the only person on the ship that doesn't,_ Hikaru thought. _And if she __**does**__, and is just fishing around for information – well, then, that's bullshit._

Though Nyota was in fact a year or so older than he, Hikaru often found himself behaving like a big brother toward his friend. Not, of course, that she needed his protection, or much of anything else – she was brilliant, and strong, and would be the very first to tell you that she could take care of herself just fine, thank you very much.

The captain would back her up on that, too, Hikaru knew; Kirk wasn't scared of much, but he always treated Nyota with a respect that was borne of the knowledge that she could – and would – rip him to shreds if she felt it necessary. Could, and would, and had. More than once.

But this time, Hikaru saw the brief look of gratitude Nyota flashed in his direction, and knew that his intervention hadn't been unwelcome. He smiled affectionately back at her – and flashed a quick glance at Chryssie Papagiannopoulos, whose slightly guilty expression told him all he needed to know.

_Hell, of __**course**__ she knows what's up with McCoy and Nyota – she works in Sickbay, for God's sake._ He wanted to call her on it – wanted to say something mildly scathing and make her apologize to Nyota for making her uncomfortable – but knew that would only make it worse.

And although he was frustrated by her behavior, he realized that it wasn't as though she was guilty of anything more than trying to get the goods on some of the latest ship's gossip – which was no more than what at least half the crew might have tried. However, if she wanted to do that at Nyota's expense, then Hikaru was simply not going to let that happen.

Nyota really, really didn't like calling attention to her personal life, and especially wanted to avoid the topic of her romantic life – or, more accurately, the lack thereof. She'd been humiliated by the speculation that had run rampant among the crew when Spock broke off their relationship last year – which, now that Hikaru thought about it, was about the time that he and Pavel had taken up their roles as Nyota's confidants, co-best friends, and slightly overprotective brothers.

Neither he nor Pavel had ever had sisters of their own – and Nyota didn't mind being the recipient of their occasionally overzealous affection... most of the time.

The sudden silence in the room was beginning to be uncomfortable – and then Chryssie got up from her spot on the floor, collecting her PADD.

"Um, well... thanks, both of you, for letting me be involved in this project. I'll... I guess I'll be talking to you later." Those last words came out in a rush, and the young ensign couldn't seem to leave the room quickly enough.

Nyota straightened, draping her towel over one shoulder and shaking her head so that her still-damp hair swished around her in a heavy black curtain.

"Thanks, 'Ru. That whole thing wasn't really a big deal, I know – but it caught me off-guard. I'd mostly stopped hearing about the thing with McCoy by now – and I guess I'd kind of expected better than that from Chryssie."

"Well, I think it's good that you continue to have high expectations of people – but I hate to see you get disappointed when they don't live up to them." Hikaru knew better than most people about the difficulties that Nyota had connecting to other women on board; besides the truly wonderful Nurse Christine Chapel, her closest friends were all men.

He chalked that up to jealousy on the part of the other female crew members; Nyota was indisputably the most gorgeous woman on the ship – hell, probably on _any _ship – which made it hard for a lot of women to even be around her, much less be friends with her.

Not that she minded being beautiful – she most emphatically did not – but it did get lonely sometimes. She almost wished that some more really gorgeous women would join the crew – if only to deflect some of the attention from herself.

Now, the new yeoman, Janice Rand, was strikingly pretty in her own fashion – but Nyota had stuck her foot in her mouth early on as far as Rand was concerned; one evening at a party, after a few too many cocktails, she'd referred to the yeoman's... _unusual_ coiffure a bit too loudly as "Basket-Head." Rand had overheard and taken offense, and even Nyota's sincere apology the following day had not done a lot of good. A friendship between them? Not so much.

"Seriously, though," Nyota had said to Pavel later, "Who the hell does that woman's _hair_, anyway? Longaberger?" And Pavel had laughed appreciatively – because, as Nyota had learned, sometimes it really was awesome to have a gay best friend.

Having two was even better.

"I still think you might be pleasantly surprised with Chryssie, Nyota – I mean, yeah, that was pretty tacky of her just now, but I think on the whole, she seems like a reasonably worthwhile person. I mean, I know Chapel seems to like her a lot. So, you never know," Hikaru said encouragingly. "You two could become friends yet."

A call at the door caused them both to look up. "That's probably Pavel," Nyota said. "I told him he should swing by here when he got off duty." Hikaru got up and moved to answer the door.

When the door whooshed open, he found himself, to his astonishment, facing an equally surprised-looking Dr. Leonard McCoy.

"Ah... Hey, Sulu. I was just – I was... Oh, hell. Never mind." Completely flustered, McCoy turned to leave as suddenly as he'd appeared.

Hikaru's hand shot out to seize his arm, preventing his flight. "Not so fast. You don't have to tell me why you're here – it's none of my business, and I've got a pretty good idea, anyway." He turned to look over his shoulder at Nyota, who was frozen in place with shock at the identity of her visitor. "Nyota – I've gotta go find Pavel. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

Ignoring his friend's panic-stricken attempt to make him stay, Hikaru squeezed past McCoy on his way out of the door – and none-too-gently shoved the doctor into the room before the door swished shut again.

~*~~*~~*~

_Well, shit,_ thought Nyota. _Shit, shit, shit – he finally decides to come talk to me, and here I look like a refugee from a slumber party._

She lamented her urge to go for comfort tonight – her baggy flannel pants and oversized t-shirt were wonderfully soft, but were certainly not flattering. Moreover, she knew that her hair was hanging down in damp strands around her face – and God only knew how she looked just then. She didn't have the nerve to look in a mirror.

_Oh, my God,_ thought McCoy. _ Here I always thought she was beautiful all fixed up with her hair and makeup just so – but... oh, my God_.

He stood, staring, reminding himself that continuing to breathe was going to be an important component of what he'd come here to do.

_But, holy shit – she's even more gorgeous __**without**__ all that crap than she is __**with**__ it. _

_I am so fucked._

"So, um..."

"Um, so..." They both started at once – and honestly, they had to laugh. That first, hideous tension broken, they smiled tentatively at one another.

Nyota gestured to a chair. "Would you like to sit down, Dr. McCoy?"

_Might as well..._ "Sure, thanks." He sat down, watching appreciatively as she moved to sit cross-legged on her bed, her bare feet tucked under her legs.

"So, Lieutenant..."

"Doctor – you're sitting here in my quarters and I'm in my pajamas." Her smile held a hint of teasing. "I think, under the circumstances, you'd might as well call me Nyota, wouldn't you agree?"

She smiled more brightly at the effect of her words; the normally unflappable doctor was – seriously – starting to blush, just a little. _And it's not a bad look on him at all,_ she mused – _not that much of anything ever is. _

He was in his off-duty clothes – well-worn jeans that fit him better than he probably realized, and a plain white button-down shirt.

The outfit was not much – but if he was staring, Nyota found herself staring right back. She'd managed to make herself forget just how attractive she found this man over the past couple of weeks – but she found herself rather forcefully reminded by his presence just a few feet away.

_Damn – he even smells good._

He tried again. "So... Nyota." He couldn't meet her eyes, but found himself instead looking down at his own clasped hands. He took a deep breath, let it out in a long sigh. "I'll just say it. I was a jackass to you. I didn't mean to be, and you didn't deserve it, and I know I had to have hurt you, and I'm... well, hell. I'm just really sorry about it." He stopped, finally looking up at her face. "I don't expect you to forgive me – but I owed you the apology, all the same." He moved his hands to the arms of his chair, holding on almost as though he were bracing himself for what would come next.

Nyota reached back, absently pulling her hair back into a ponytail with her hands – and not hearing the tiny, choked noise that came from McCoy's throat as that motion brought her shirt up to cling to the full contours of her breasts.

He hadn't known what to expect – but he had certainly not expected to be graced with the sudden, beautiful smile that transformed Nyota's already-lovely face. If he hadn't known better – since, after all, he was a doctor, not a romance novelist – he'd have sworn that smile had stopped his heart right then and there.

"Doctor..."

"I'm sitting here in your quarters, and you're in your pajamas. Under the circumstances, you'd might as well call me Leonard." He quirked a wry grin in her direction, appreciating the bubble of warm laughter he got in reply.

"Leonard?" She looked quizzically at him.

His voice was heavy with self-deprecation. "Well, it ain't much – and certainly nobody around here uses it – but it does have the advantage of actually being my name. That's gotta count for something."

"I like it – Leonard."

_That __**smile**__ again. It ought to come with a warning label,_ he thought, willing himself to keep breathing normally.

"So... Nyota. Here's the thing." He'd never said anything like this to another human being in his life, and had no real idea why he was doing it now. "I think you've figured out that I'm a pretty screwed-up person... I don't know, emotionally and all that nonsense. So, I'm guessing I wouldn't be a real good candidate for a, you know,_ relationship _or whatever. But..."

"Leonard – wait." Nyota looked slightly distressed, and more than a little uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry – I don't mean to interrupt you, but if I don't spit this out now, I'll lose my nerve." He took another deep breath. "The thing is, I think you're one hell of an amazing woman – and I like you. I like you a lot. I don't know if you'd be willing to consider being friends – but I do know that I'd really like to spend more time with you."

He'd gotten through it – unbelievably – and was still alive.

_And that little prick Jim would fall right the fuck over if he'd been able to hear what I just said. _

He thought about the chewing-out his best friend/captain had given him the night before. _Not that I'll give him the satisfaction of telling him about it._

"So..." He looked at her somewhat sheepishly. "Do you think you might be up for having the crabbiest son-of-a-bitch on the _Enterprise_ as your newest pal?"

Her eyes were shining, and she was flashing him that definitely-needs-a-warning-label smile of hers once again.

He could almost feel the relief – and something that felt a lot like satisfaction – coursing through his veins. Crap – that was obviously not physically possible; maybe he _was_ a romance novelist after all...

"Leonard... I can't think of anything that would make me happier right about now. What I was going to say to you before was – well, the stuff that happened with us earlier? It kind of brought it home for me that I'm not really ready for any kind of relationship just now either – for whatever reasons – but, I think you're pretty great yourself. And I think getting to know you better is... just what the doctor ordered."

"Dear Lord – pun intended?" Leonard groaned.

"Maybe." Shit – did she just _wink _at him? "My puns are usually better than that, though."

"I would hope so – especially if you're going to be the high priestess of our literary society."

"High priestess? Oooh, I like the sound of that. Calls up mental images of big altars, and sacrifices, and all that good stuff."

For the first time since he'd come in, Nyota noticed that Leonard had a PADD – and something else – clutched in his left hand.

"What's that you've got there?" She gestured toward the PADD.

He chuckled softly. "This –" he held up the PADD – "was going to be my excuse for coming to see you. I was going to run some of the stuff by you that Sulu and I have been putting together for this magazine of yours."

Nyota leaned forward eagerly, resting her elbows on her knees. "I'd love to hear some of it – Hikaru won't let me see it, but he's just being a sneaky bastard as usual." She smiled conspiratorially at Leonard. "So – will you read me some of it? I won't tell 'Ru that you did."

The look he gave her said, _like I'd give a shit if he knew?_ – and she laughed.

That laugh was a great sound, and Leonard made a mental note to do whatever it took to make sure he heard that laugh as often as possible.

He cleared his throat ostentatiously, before reading, "From the Day-Planner of Captain Awesome."

And there was that laugh again – and he couldn't help but laugh, too.

"0700: Captain's morning inspection," he intoned. "Inventory as follows: Eyes – two. Note: still electric blue. Twinkle – present. Boyish grin – check. Right pectoral flex – manly. Left pectoral flex – equally manly. Dual pectoral flex – breathtaking."

Nyota interrupted, giggling. "Oh, my gosh – don't read me any more. I want to see it all when it's done. Jim is going to just die."

Fortunately, she knew Jim well enough to know that he really would think it was hilarious, too – which was part of the reason why his crew adored him.

She thought of the _nom de plume_ he'd sent with his limericks – "Captain Awesome" – which seemed like maybe too much of a coincidence. She asked, "Do you suppose he knows?"

Leonard smiled back at her. "Yeah – he knows. Don't think he's figured out exactly what we're doing, but he knows we're gonna mess with him. What makes you ask?"

She explained about Jim's use of their title for him – and Leonard let out a bark of laughter.

"Damn. I haven't heard any of Jim's limericks in ages." He chuckled, recalling some he'd known in the past. "Don't suppose you have any handy, do you? I'd love to hear a couple."

"Oh, for sure. I kept my favorites right here." Pushing a few keys with her stylus, she called up a screen. "Here are the three that cracked me up." She handed the PADD to Leonard, who read:

There once was a fellow, O'Doole,

Who found little red spots on his tool

His doctor, a cynic,

said "Get out of me clinic,

And wipe off that lipstick, you fool!"

***

He found himself smiling – though he didn't notice Nyota watching him with warm appreciation.

_He looks about ten years younger when he smiles – and just flat gorgeous._

Leonard read on:

A yeoman in Science named Hall

Had one hexahedron-shaped ball.

The cube of its weight,

Times his pecker, plus eight

Is his phone number – give him a call.

***

He began to laugh aloud.

_That explains why Jim was in the personnel records earlier – he had to make sure there really wasn't anybody named Hall on board. _

_Good thing there's not...  
_

A pirate, history relates

Was scuffling with some of his mates

When he slipped on a cutlass

Which rendered him nutless

And practically useless on dates.

***

He didn't know why Jim's stupid-ass limericks always struck him so funny – but they did. Still laughing, he handed the PADD back to Nyota. As he did so, the crunch of a piece of paper reminded him that he had something else to give her.

"I don't know where this came from," he handed her a slightly crumpled piece of paper. "It was stuck in your door when I came in – and... well, I forgot about it, honestly."

Paper itself was an anomaly aboard a starship, where nearly any kind of communication was electronic in nature. This particular piece of paper held what looked at first glance to be a poem of some sort – and when Nyota looked more closely, she determined that the first glance had been accurate. The piece had been printed on a computer, and wasn't signed.

_That's odd, _she thought. There were a couple of people who had chosen to use pen names – but nobody had been downright anonymous.

She read:

**Ex Astris, Scientia**

_(Dedicated to Starfleet Academy)_

They taught us to take Science from the stars

And that is why we're here, to make our quest.

Why we are sent, the brightest and the best,

(By some who never venture much past Mars)

Though now we know that nothing ever bars

The mind with questions that will never rest

Infinity can never be possessed

(Fulfilling dreams that were not truly ours)

And we have learned what they may never know

Who coolly send the flower of their youth

Now it is ours to build what comes to pass.

"From Stars comes Science" – so they say below

They cannot know of beauty, or of truth

That shines from stars – _Ex Astris, Veritas._

_***  
_

As she finished reading, she noticed Leonard watching her curiously.

"Read it," she said, handing the paper to him.

_Ex Astris, Veritas,_ she reflected.

She hadn't missed the reference to Starfleet Academy's motto, "Ex Astris, Scientia" – and she liked this one better.

_From the stars comes truth._

She pulled out her communicator, typing in a message to Hikaru.

_I THINK WE'VE GOT OURSELVES A NAME FOR THE MAGAZINE._

_*****  
_

_

* * *

_

_For those of you who are really into this – yes, I do know that technically, the motto is, "Ex Astra, Scientia." However, that isn't grammatical in Latin. So, yes. I am a dork TWICE. So sue me. Or better still, review the chapter._


	5. Captain Awesome

"_If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit by me."_

~Alice Roosevelt Longworth

* * *

It was probably a sign of how little was currently happening on the _Enterprise_ that the debut issue of _Ex Astris, Veritas_ became nearly the only topic of conversation anywhere aboard the ship. It was impossible to walk the corridors without hearing some sort of running commentary...

"What's a hexahedron, anyway?"

"I'm not sure – but did you hear that the Science guys on Gamma shift were weighing their manly bits last night, just to see what  
the weight would be cubed?"

"Captain Awesome – that's Kirk, right?"

"Oh, come on – who else?"

"...Yeah, I totally think we should book a condo on Delta Vega for our next shore leave, don't you?"

"So... are these poems in, what – Vulcan? Who reads Vulcan around here – what do they say?"

"Damn, Badria – you're amazing! No, I'm not just saying that because you could beat the shit out of me, either. Yes, I know you  
absolutely could – not doubting that for a moment."

Most conversations seemed, though, to come back around to one of two things. One of those was, who actually wrote the anonymously submitted poem from which the magazine got its name?

"Chryssie says it wasn't her," Chapel reported to Nyota – shooting her first theory right out of the water. "However, she did say that it's a... wait, I'll remember... a Petrarchan sonnet."

_Not,_ Nyota thought grumpily, _that this is exactly a useful piece of information..._

And though it was a lovely and romantic to think of the cool, efficient First Officer with the heart of a brooding poet beating under his Science blues, Spock quickly denied responsibility for the work.

"Though I understand the utility of poetry – as I do of all the arts – for many species, I doubt that I have the creativity necessary to produce anything of the sort," he'd said to Sulu. "I have certainly never had the inclination to discover whether I had such ability, in any event."

Other suspects included Rollins in Communications – a shy genius who rarely spoke except as a matter of duty, but who seemed to many of the female crew members to have Hidden Depths. He neither confirmed nor denied authorship of the poem – though he did seem to be thriving on the extra attention he was receiving as a result of the mystery.

Nyota did begin to wonder – just vaguely – if maybe Leonard McCoy could have had something to do with it. After all, he had been the one to bring the poem to her attention to begin with – which would be, as Kirk liked to say, a "no-brainer". Not that she had the nerve to ask; the friendship that was starting to bloom between them was still too new for such questions. After all, if he did write it, he obviously didn't want to be credited for it.

McCoy had nothing to say about any of it, one way or the other; he answered any queries about the "mystery sonnet" that came his way with a less-than-gentle reminder to whomever had asked the question that, dammit, he was a doctor, not a private detective.

So, the mystery remained.

The other major topic of discussion regarding the new magazine concerned the article purporting to be "From the Day-Planner of Captain Awesome."

Not that there was much mystery involved in guessing the identity of "Americus D'Artagnan" – nor, or course, of "Captain Awesome" himself – but the members of the crew were getting an inordinate kick out of reading selections of the piece aloud to one another.

As a general rule, this did not pose a problem – since, as Nyota had predicted, Jim thought the "entries" were every bit as funny as anyone else did.

However, as it turned out, not every member of the crew was amused – as Lieutenant Chekov was to discover.

He, more than anyone, was thrilled with the article – not because he felt any disrespect for the Captain (since everyone on the Enterprise knew that Pavel's regard for Kirk bordered on hero-worship), but because he was so proud of how clever his Hikaru had been for writing such a funny piece. The fact that he'd done so in conjunction with Dr. McCoy was, of course, conveniently forgotten by the ebullient young navigator.

The first issue of _Ex Astris, Veritas_ had been out for three days when Pavel decided to read excerpts from the "Day Planner" to the bridge crew during an extraordinarily slow period.

"0730: Breakfast with the best looking guy on the ship. (Note to self: Table for one.)" Pavel laughed appreciatively. "You know, Keptin, this is probably true that you are the best looking guy on the ship – so it is good of you to eat breakfast with the rest of us."

Kirk flashed him a brief grin. "Anything for you lesser mortals, Chekov – I have to keep your morale up somehow, right?"

Grinning back – and relieved that Nyota had been right in her insistence that Kirk really wasn't offended by any of this, Pavel read on. "Here is another. 1340: Appointment for annual physical in Sickbay. 1345: Catch sight of hypospray near exam table. 1346: Run; scream like little girl."

"Tell me, Sulu – that was the 'Americus' half of 'Americus D'Artagnan' who wrote that part, yes?" Kirk was doing a poor job of keeping the laughter out of his voice.

"That's right, sir." The pilot quirked a wry grin at the captain. "I took over with the parts where you start getting into fights."

"Oh, yes," Kirk replied. "I assumed as much – especially since in your version, I don't typically seem to kick your ass." He winked. "That's the part that makes it _fiction_, right, Sulu?"

Sulu laughed good-naturedly. "Of course, sir. Whatever you say." Still smiling, he turned his attention back to his station – entirely missing the dark expression beginning to develop on the face of the _Enterprise's_ first officer.

That Spock was silent was not surprising to anyone on Alpha Shift – he typically didn't speak unless he had something specific to say – but his posture, always meticulously straight, had become increasingly stiff as Chekov had read from the magazine.

"One more," Pavel continued, oblivious to Spock's reaction. "1445: Encounter seemingly no-win scenario; discover that there are places on the bridge where I cannot, in fact, observe myself as I perform my Captainly duties in the studly and dashing fashion that is my trademark. 1450: Plan to redesign the bridge layout so that more reflective surfaces are present. (Note to self: Still do not believe in no-win scenarios.)"

Chekov, looking down at his PADD and laughing, failed to see the look of warning Nyota had sent in his direction – and now it was too late.

Spock spun around suddenly from his station, glaring at – well, at pretty much everyone.

"Captain. I must object most strenuously to this blatant demonstration of disrespect." Walking over to Chekov's seat at the helm, he yanked the PADD out of the hand of the astonished navigator.

"This... this attempt at humor is completely inappropriate for a Federation starship. Moreover, to have written and published a piece specifically designed to hold one's captain up for ridicule," he glared at Sulu, "is conduct entirely unbecoming to a Starfleet officer, and borders on insubordination." Turning to Nyota, he ground out, "Knowingly allowing such a piece to be published is hardly more acceptable – which I would have expected _you_ to understand." He spoke with his usual, well-modulated tone – but these people all knew him, and recognized the anger in his voice.

The bridge went silent, except for the occasional whir and beep of the various monitors.

Sulu and Chekov found themselves staring at Spock as though he had grown another head; they had both, over the course of the past two years, had opportunities to work closely with the first officer, and had – they thought – become his friends. However, the Spock they knew – Chekov's frequent chess partner, Sulu's much-respected colleague in botanical research – was nowhere to be found in the stony face before them.

Sulu rose immediately; if this was anyone's fault, it was his – since it had been his stupid idea to begin with. He wasn't going to let Pavel – or Nyota, or anybody else – take the heat for it. He took a deep breath before turning to face Spock.

"Commander, of course you're right. Captain," he nodded briefly to Kirk, "I hope you'll accept my apology, along with my assurance that the offending article will be deleted from the magazine immediately, and that similar pieces will not be written in future – or published if they're written by others."

Kirk looked genuinely taken aback. "Sulu," he objected, "that's just nonsense." He looked quizzically at Spock. "Though I believe Commander Spock has my best interests at heart, I think he has failed to take into account our human appreciation for things like satire and humor."

He got up from his chair and walked over to the helm, where he then placed a hand on Sulu's shoulder. "Hikaru," he said with unaccustomed sincerity in his voice, "no apology is necessary – and you ought to know that. You show me respect and loyalty _all the time_ – and you have, every day, for years. I couldn't ask for a better pilot, a better officer – or a better friend. And if a friend can't poke a little good-natured fun at a friend on my ship – well, then, that's kind of bullshit, isn't it?"

Hopefully, it was a rhetorical question, since neither Hikaru nor anyone else seemed to want to answer. Sulu gave Kirk a grateful look before simply nodding and returning silently to his work. Chekov continued to sit frozen in the same position he'd held when Spock had come to the helm – seemingly still shocked into inaction. After Sulu gently tapped him on the shoulder, he shook his head and returned his attention to his own station as well.

His anguished whisper of "I'm so sorry, 'Karu – it was all my fault," was barely audible across the still-hushed bridge.

This, Jim thought, would never do. "Mr. Sulu," he announced, "you have the conn. Mr. Spock –" he turned to his first officer – "walk with me, won't you?"

As Kirk and Spock wordlessly entered the turbolift, the bridge slowly began to return to its normal low buzz of sound.

The doors of the lift softly whooshed closed, and Jim turned to Spock.

"All right," he said, his voice unusually quiet. "Now, suppose you tell me what that was _really_ all about."

* * *

_Yes, I know. That's just terrible to leave you wondering what is going on with these two cute boys in the Turbolift of Angst. However, I hope to update soon soon -- and I kind of liked ending this chapter at this particular spot. I'll be interested to hear what you think._


	6. Something Like Regret

"_Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." _

~William Shakespeare

* * *

The doors of the lift softly whooshed closed, and Jim turned to Spock.

"All right," he said suddenly, "Suppose you tell me what that was really all about."

Ramrod-straight, hands clasped formally at the small of his back, Spock did not meet Jim's eyes, instead looking intently at the ceiling of the turbolift. "Please clarify, Captain."

Kirk huffed a short, exasperated sigh; Spock knew, when he was not automatically corrected to call the captain "Jim", that his commanding officer was indeed quite frustrated.

"You don't need me to clarify anything – you just don't want to talk about it." Jim focused on the same nondescript spot on the ceiling of the lift. "Well, I'm afraid that's not an option." Spock was stonewalling for some reason, and Jim was determined to find out what it was.

"Come on," he said, as the lift stopped on the deck where both their quarters were located. "We'll discuss this further in my office."

They walked in silence down the corridor, and Spock watched as the captain punched the entry code into the keypad by his door with more force than was strictly necessary.

In all likelihood, Spock mused, he would shortly be asked to explain to the captain – to Jim – the reasoning behind his outburst (and yes, he had to admit that it had, indeed, been an outburst) on the bridge. Unfortunately, as he was coming to discover upon further reflection, _reason_ seemed to have had little to do with it.

He was unsure why he was suddenly reminded of Nyota's admonishment to him earlier in the week: "It would _matter_ to Jim, Spock. _Your opinion of him_ matters – a lot. You should tell him."

Now, he needed to find a way to logically explain that for which there was not a logical explanation – and if _distress_ had not been a human emotion, it might have come close to describing the sensation that Spock currently experienced.

Jim had seated himself behind his desk, gesturing to the chair across from himself and looking expectantly at Spock. Wordlessly, Spock sank into the seat, and waited as the silence between them dragged on.

"So, Spock." Jim – _no, this stern expression definitely belonged to Captain Kirk, not Jim_ – watched his first officer with speculative eyes. "I don't know if you'd agree with my assessment of the situation that just took place on the bridge – but here it is, for what it's worth. What I saw was some good-natured – I might even go so far as to say affectionate – teasing between members of the command crew, in the form of the satirical article written by Sulu and McCoy. I believe my own response was fairly clear, and that it was obvious by my reaction that I didn't mind the teasing – that, in fact, I saw and appreciated the humor as well."

Kirk was silent for a moment, as if waiting for some response from Spock. When it was plain that none would be forthcoming, he continued.

"As I said – I saw the humor. However, you obviously did not; moreover, your reaction to what was taking place was, in my opinion, way out of proportion to the offense you seemed to perceive. Now, Sulu and Chekov are big boys, and they'll survive getting yelled at by their first officer – but I want to know what provoked you today."

He pushed himself back from his desk with a sharp, exasperated motion. "Because honestly, Spock – what you said about them showing me disrespect? I don't buy it. You know better; you've worked with these men for years, and know they'd follow me into anything – _anything_ – without question. They'd gladly die for me – for you, too, for that matter. You also know that this kind of humor is how we operate – me and Bones, me and Sulu, me and Scotty – it's just how we roll. You've heard us whipping shit on each other a thousand times, and you've never blown your stack."

Silence again, as the captain – _no, those concerned, questioning eyes belonged to Jim, not Captain Kirk _– watched Spock, waiting for an answer.

"Why today, Spock? Why now?"

He could not answer – or, at least, he did not. He could wait as long as the captain. Longer.

He had not counted on the expression that he saw now on Jim's – _definitely Jim's, not the captain's_ – face. His eyes reflected confusion, disappointment – and something else that Spock could not identify.

Jim's quiet voice finally broke the lengthening silence. "You're right, of course – I can't make you tell me anything. But..." he trailed off, sounding uncharacteristically defeated, "I thought we were maybe close enough friends that --"

He broke off, sighed. "Never mind – just forget it." Spock was taken aback to see Jim rising from his chair, turning away from him to walk out of the office toward his private quarters. "There's no point in my wasting your time – or my own. You're dismissed, Spock."

Spock was utterly unprepared for the sensation – an actual physical sensation, close to being pain – that bloomed in his chest at this change in Jim's demeanor. The feeling, along with the intense surprise that accompanied it, was unaccustomed, unpleasant, unwelcome.

Finally, he forced himself to speak.

"Captain – Jim. Please... wait."

Jim froze, then turned back slowly, carefully examining his first officer. This time, it was Jim who waited wordlessly.

"Jim." Spock could not seem to bring himself to make eye contact. "I... I am unsure as to how to explain today's events, though I will endeavor to do so. I will request your patience, as this will, I believe, prove to be... difficult for me."

When he managed to look in Jim's direction, he saw that he had been surprised by Spock's admission – as incomplete as it was. "Of course, Spock," he said, returning to sit in his chair, even though Spock himself remained standing. "Please – go on."

"Although I do not always understand the levity that you permit between yourself and your officers, Captain – Jim – I have had ample opportunities to see that this component of your command style has proven to be very effective in building morale among all members of the crew. Therefore, my reaction today failed, as you mentioned on the bridge, to take into account the human propensity to enjoy humor and satire. It was also, as you said a moment ago, a reaction which was disproportionate to the events that preceded it."

Spock hesitated for a long moment; only the ever-present hum of the _Enterprise's_ engines broke the silence between them.

"Today, Jim... the humor being indulged at your expense – which I do understand took place with your implicit consent – was of the nature that described you as being vain, self-centered, and thoughtless, with no interest outside of your own personal glory. This... this proved to be difficult for me to hear without –" He stopped, as though waiting for the right words to come to him.

Jim looked resigned; when he spoke, he addressed the top of his desk instead of making eye contact with his first officer.

"To hear without what, Spock?" he said softly, an edge of bitterness to his voice. "Without thinking about how true it was?"

Jim looked up then, and Spock was nearly overwhelmed by a rush of visual memory. In his mind's eye, he could see the indignant face of a young Starfleet cadet demanding to face his accuser at a disciplinary hearing – the expression radiating cocky defiance, but the eyes shining with undeniable intelligence. He had looked at Spock with anger, but also with something like... perhaps _expectation_ would come close to describing what he had seen in that intent, vivid blue gaze. It was almost as though Jim had been certain that he would be able to make Spock understand what his motivation had been for having altered the original _Kobayashi Maru _program.

As though Jim had seen, with the preternatural perception that seemed to be his alone, that before him had stood a kindred spirit – one who understood being on the outside, having to prove yourself when no one else had to, being different, separate. Had he been willing to listen, Spock reflected, Kirk might well have been able to make him understand why he had done what he had to the simulation.

He had not, however, had such a willingness. Not for the first time, this realization filled Spock with something like regret.

In his memory, he heard the echo of his own voice as he had responded to the angry cadet: "_You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk – a captain cannot cheat death. Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?" _

Those words had changed Kirk's expression, suddenly and entirely. The anger had drained away, and so had the expectation – there was only shock, and then the briefest flash of what he could now, knowing Jim as he did, identify as pain.

He had not seen that look on Jim's face again – until right now.

The uncomfortable feeling that had surprised Spock earlier came flooding back with exponentially greater force, and without his Vulcan training, he might have flinched at the sensation that felt as though something had reached into his chest and squeezed.

"Jim – no." Spock took a deep breath before continuing. "You are in error if you believe that I hold such an opinion of you."

"C'mon, Spock." There was no anger in his voice; just that same resignation. Spock realized, suddenly, that Jim's anger would be infinitely preferable to this for him; he did not wish to see his captain with that defeated look in his eyes -- or, worse yet, to realize that it was he, himself, who had caused it to appear.

_Again._

But Jim was still speaking, though his intent gaze was now fixed on a random spot on the surface of his desk. "I know what you've thought of me, pretty much from the beginning, though I guess I thought -- well, I'd hoped -- that things had changed. But, whatever." He straightened slightly, tugging his gold shirt absently downward. "I suppose I appreciate your efforts to make sure others don't express those opinions of me -- even though I'm pretty sure that _they_ at least weren't actually sincere."

Captain Kirk – _this suddenly cool, detached man was definitely the captain, not Jim_ – rose again from his chair, squaring his shoulders and seeming almost to mentally shake himself as his tone of voice returned to something approaching normal. "But enough of this, all right? Alpha Shift doesn't end for another 2.5 hours, and I have a ship to run. So... I suggest we head back to the bridge." Pushing in his chair, he headed toward the door.

Seemingly of its own volition, Spock's hand shot out to grasp Jim's arm, effectively halting his progress. Looking every bit as surprised as his captain did by this action on his own part, Spock quickly dropped Jim's arm – but moved instead to block any access to the doorway.

"Captain – Jim – I must ask that you wait, that you hear me out." At any other time, Spock would have cringed to hear the undercurrent of desperation in his own voice, but for now, it was strangely unimportant to him.

"Jim. Please."


	7. An Understanding

_The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. _

~Mahatma Gandhi

..

* * *

..

"Captain – Jim – I must ask that you wait, that you hear me out."

Jim had been frozen into stunned silence when Spock – Mr. "Don't Touch Me, I'm a Vulcan" Spock – had reached out and actually _grabbed his arm_. Not that it had hurt or anything – and not that he'd actually held on for more than a second – but he'd done it all the same, and Jim remained uncharacteristically speechless. Now he could only stare into brown eyes that seemed to bore into his with an unaccustomed, almost pleading, expression.

"Jim. Please."

_Well, shit. _

For a guy who claimed to have no emotions himself, Spock sure was causing Jim to experience quite a few of his own.

And for a guy who claimed to have no qualms about having emotions, Jim was repressing the hell out of them.

Right about now, he'd had about as much as he could handle of this frustrating, way-too-intense meeting with Spock; he just wanted to walk out of the room and have it be over. To get back to – hell, whatever it was he was supposed to be doing.

Anything that didn't involve being alone in this room with Spock at this moment, hearing whatever it was he was so intent upon saying.

Whatever it was, Jim was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

However, there was a particularly determined-looking half-Vulcan between him and the door, who did not seem to want to move. Jim knew from experience that physical force would be useless – even if it made sense in this situation.

Which it didn't, of course. But neither did much of anything else, right now.

Jim sighed. _Get it over with, Jimbo._ "All right, Spock," he said quietly. "I'm listening."

Spock seemed to relax slightly. "Thank you, Jim."

Not, Jim reflected wryly, that he looked particularly grateful.

To someone who didn't know him, Spock's face would be considered expressionless just now, he supposed. But Jim knew his First – knew him well enough to see that Spock looked miserably uncomfortable. If the situation had been different, it might have even been a little bit funny; it occurred to Jim that Spock looked for all the world like a kid who'd been hauled into the principal's office.

"Jim..." He stopped, and yet another long silence ensued.

Jim felt his stomach turn; he couldn't imagine what Spock was having such a hard time saying, but could only believe that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.

"Jim, I have owed you an apology for quite some time. That I have delayed for so long in making such an apology only compounds my offense."

_What?_

Relieved to find that he hadn't actually said that aloud, Jim fixed his first officer with what he knew had to be an expression of complete confusion. Because seriously – that was just about the last thing he'd ever expect to hear from Spock.

"The first time we met, Jim, was under... less than optimal circumstances."

Jim laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You were trying to get me thrown out of the Academy. Guess you could say that was less than optimal, yeah."

He froze when Spock flinched at his words – actually _flinched_, as if Jim had struck him.

"Captain – _Jim," _he ground out, "I would ask, please, that you allow me to continue uninterrupted."

Jim nodded his reply, holding himself tense, waiting, as though expecting a blow himself. Spock turned slightly away, so that his next remarks were addressed to Jim's wall rather than to Jim himself.

"Quite simply – I was wrong to have brought you up on charges to begin with. Having brought up your father at your disciplinary hearing was... nothing short of inexcusable." Spock paused, shaking his head briefly in recollection. "I thought that what I was feeling at the time was righteous indignation at your academic dishonesty – but it was not. It was nothing more, nothing less than petty jealousy, Jim."

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. "At first, I was shocked that someone had been able to circumvent the program at all – then, I must admit now, I resented you for having been able to do so. More than that, I resented that for the first time, I had to acknowledge that there might be someone at the Academy who was my intellectual equal. I do not expect you to understand this; I am not certain that I fully understand it myself. I told myself that I was angry that someone had outwitted my design – and then angrier still that I had allowed myself to become angry."

Spock moved to face Jim again, the look on his face unreadable. "All of this I was willing to blame on you. At the time, I had convinced myself that you deserved it. I believed – I was willing to believe – that what you had done with the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation had been done out of vanity, a headstrong desire to win glory for yourself regardless of the consequences. It was an opinion that only intensified when I encountered you on the _Enterprise_ shortly thereafter."

Jim nodded again, swallowing hard.

Spock's voice was quiet, almost strained. "Once I was willing to look at your actions through the lens of logic rather than my own anger, it did not take me long to realize that I had been wrong in my assessment of your character, Jim. Yes, your methods were – are – unorthodox and often highly illogical, and you frequently act," he paused, raising an eyebrow, "with a deplorable disregard for your own safety. However, my observations have also shown that the well-being of your ship and crew is always foremost in your priorities, and that you often seek to deflect praise and commendations to others when they are offered to you. You do, as I suspected at our first meeting, have a prodigious intellect – but rather than trying to flaunt it to make others recognize your superiority, you instead go out of your way to appear to be much less than you are. Only those of us who work with you most closely ever get glimpses of your true capability."

Again, silence stretched between them; Spock silent as he searched for the appropriate words, Jim silent because he was utterly immobilized by Spock's admissions.

Thoughts flew through Jim's head at a dizzying pace. All this time, he'd been convinced that Spock, while always a model First Officer, regarded him with barely-concealed distaste. He did believe, though, that with the passage of time, he had managed to overcome the worst of his negative feelings toward Jim – and exhibited a willingness to begin the friendship that the elder Spock had said would define them both.

It was already a friendship that Jim treasured – more than he cared to admit – and the realization that Spock's opinion of him was...

_Damn. Way too important._

...had caused something like panic to rise like a bubble in his chest.

But now, the only negative feelings Jim could detect coming from Spock – impatience, disgust, and perhaps even guilt? – seemed to be directed at himself, not Jim.

Could he have been wrong, all this time?

Spock moved a step closer, an almost unbearable sincerity in his expressive brown eyes, and in his voice as he spoke again.

"Jim, I allowed my own prejudices to interfere with forming a reasonable judgment of your actions at the Academy. I failed to let you defend yourself – to listen to you with anything like an open mind – and as a result, I misjudged you, and your motivations, I believe, very badly indeed."

Jim spoke at last. "You... you did?"

He cringed at the sound of his own voice – he sounded like a fucking teenage girl. Fortunately, Spock seemed not to notice.

"I did, Jim. Now, knowing you as I do, I realize that whatever motivated you to circumvent the _Kobayashi Maru_ program, it had nothing to do with a desire for self-aggrandizement or personal glory. That day, at your hearing, you attempted to explain yourself – and I cut you off, thoughtlessly, with an uncalled-for reference to your late father's sacrifice."

Spock stepped closer still – close enough for Jim to reach out and touch, had he wished.

"All along, it had been that sacrifice that was driving you, I believe. You, who owed your very existence to your father's willingness to accept a no-win scenario – or, more accurately, his belief that the preservation of the lives of hundreds of his crew members was worth the loss of his own– you, Jim, had spent your entire life trying to find an alternate solution. You wished to find a resolution, not to the scenario that destroyed the _Kobayashi Maru_, Jim – but to that which had destroyed the _Kelvin_."

Spock closed his eyes briefly, pausing to take a deep breath before he went on. "I could not see that then, as I do now. I chose not to see it – or to allow myself to listen to any of your explanations. I turned on you with accusations that were unwarranted and unfair – and then attacked you by intentionally bringing up the one name, the one circumstance, that would cause you pain on the most visceral of levels." Not meeting Jim's eyes, then, Spock addressed the top of the desk instead, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "My intent, then, was to hurt you – though even I did not realize the extent to which I would do so."

Jim felt his throat tightening, and willed himself to remain composed. Whatever he had expected to come of this conversation, this most certainly was _not_ it.

One thought kept circling in his mind like some sort of demented bird; _Spock __**gets**__ it. I don't know how the hell he does, but he does; he understands._

"You should know, Jim, that I have long regretted my actions – regretted them bitterly – but had been unable to think of a way to express that regret... and to ask your forgiveness." He raised his eyes to Jim's. "Today, when McCoy and Sulu were holding you up for ridicule – albeit affectionately – for the very traits I had believed you to possess, I was reminded most forcefully of my own transgressions. The anger I displayed on the bridge was misdirected and entirely inappropriate in its expression – though I chastised Sulu, Chekov, and even Uhura, I was indeed angry with myself."

Jim tried then to interrupt, but Spock went on. "It is ironic, I believe, that I often mention your human emotionality as a shortcoming – when in this case it is I who have let emotion get the better of me. Anger, regret, remorse – all of these constitute conduct unbecoming to a Vulcan, and an affront to the teachings of Surak. Yet, somehow, I cannot regret them today – not if they have caused me to finally acknowledge the wrong I have done you, and to offer my most sincere apology."

"Spock, I..."

"Jim. I know that you believe that I... that I think less than highly of you. You must understand that the complete opposite is, in fact, the case. I have long since recognized that, despite your youth, you are arguably the most effective and competent Captain in Starfleet. You are a fair and compassionate commanding officer, who has long since gained the unswerving loyalty of the crew. And you are... you are, Jim, one of the few people who has made the effort to be my friend. Ours is a friendship for which I have great value, and –"

He broke off suddenly at the look in the vividly blue eyes regarding him with such intensity.

Without stopping, without thinking – because there had already been _way_ too much thinking today – Jim took the step forward that closed the distance between them, enfolding Spock in a tight embrace. Wordlessly, for a long moment, he simply held on – and was about to let go when slowly, awkwardly, Spock's arms came around Jim's back as well.

They stood there like that, in silent understanding, for an indeterminate amount of time – it could have been seconds or minutes, and neither of them would ever really be able to say for sure. Finally, Jim stepped back, watching Spock with suspiciously shiny eyes.

He took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. "You know what, Spock? Believe it or not, this is the kind of shit that happens... between friends, sometimes. You have problems – or misunderstandings – and you get them out in the open, and get them out of the way."

He flashed Spock a brilliant, sweet smile – and Spock felt the squeezing in his chest again. This time, it felt nothing like pain, though the nature of the sensation was not readily identifiable.

"After such... shit... happens, Jim," Spock asked – then waited for the hoot of delighted laughter he had suspected would be forthcoming, "what is the usual result?"

Jim was still chuckling. "I cannot _believe_ you just said _shit_."

"I was only quoting you, Jim."

"Fine. The usual result, as you put it, is that with the misunderstandings cleared up, friends have the chance to become closer. To be better friends."

"I see. Oddly, considering the illogic of the topic in general, such a premise is actually quite logical."

_And "Mr. I'm More Logical Than You, 'Cause I'm a Vulcan, Dammit" is back_, thought Jim with a smile.

Honestly, he was glad to see Spock starting to act like himself again – as much as he appreciated the apology, and as amazing as it was to realize that Spock really didn't think he was a complete fuck-up, Jim thought he could go a long while without seeing that... _pain_ reflected in Spock's eyes again.

"So, Commander – what say you? They'll be wondering where we are on the bridge – shall we go?"

"Indeed, Captain. But, before we do so – would you, perhaps, like to plan on a game of chess later this evening after dinner?"

"A capital idea, Commander." Jim smiled again. "Better still, shall we plan on dinner and then chess?"

Spock nodded briefly before opening the door to leave. "As you have been known to say, Captain, it sounds like a plan."

Jim's laughter followed him into the corridor.

...

...

After the end of Alpha Shift, Jim was more than happy to spend a free hour in Rec Room 15 trying to kick Sulu's ass. Since neither of them had any particular expertise in mok'bara, the martial art that they'd only recently picked up from a trader who had, in turn, learned it from the Klingons, neither man had a clear advantage.

"Good thing we decided not to try this with weapons," Sulu said as yet another round had ended in a tie – with both of them nearly helpless with laughter at their awkward attempts to execute the unfamiliar movements.

"No shit," Kirk replied, wiping sweat from his forehead with the hem of his t-shirt. "We'd probably have accidentally sliced ourselves into shreds – those Klingons don't fuck around when it comes to knives, and swords, and... yeah. All those big pointy things."

"That's the truth," Hikaru concurred. "And then I'd be in big trouble if I messed up Captain Awesome's pretty face."

"_You'd_ be in trouble? I'd be fucked for sure if I gave you a split lip so you couldn't kiss your Paaaa-shaaaa..." Jim puckered his lips and made exaggerated kissing sounds.

"Okay, Captain Jackass – _now_ it's on." Leaping to his feet again, Sulu dove, still laughing, to take Jim down at the knees, then rolled quickly to flip them over so that he had the captain pinned to the mat beneath him.

Jim made a token resistance, then shrugged to acknowledge defeat.

"Good thing for you I have to be somewhere in a little while, or you wouldn't have gotten off so easily," he grunted as Hikaru held out a hand to pull him to his feet.

"So I should be checking your social calendar before we come in here to spar?" Sulu was pulling off his shirt, heading for the showers.

"Why not, man? You've already got an advance copy of my Day Planner!"

Jim was laughing, but Hikaru froze. "No, Jim – I was serious about that. No more. It might have been funny, but... yeah. No more."

"Funny? Hikaru, it was fucking _hilarious_. And if you don't want to write anymore, then don't – but don't stop because you think I want you to. You get that, right?"

Hikaru nodded. "I do, Jim, really. But I think once was enough – don't want to kill the joke." He laughed, somewhat uncomfortably. "And I think I'd just as soon not have Spock knock the shit out of me."

He smiled, more genuinely this time. "Because, unlike _you_, Captain Awesome, _he_ could really do it."

"Just wait, Sulu. Next time, your ass is mine."

"Try telling that to 'Paaaa-shaaaa', big guy – 'cause you'll have to get past him if you want it."

Enormously amused at his own humor, Hikaru turned and disappeared, still chuckling, into the locker room. Jim headed back to his quarters to shower – wondering, just a little, why he was so happy about the prospect of dinner and chess with Spock.

_Shit, who cares? Happy is happy,_ he thought.

_Now – what to wear..._

...

* * *

...

The first person Jim encountered in the Officers' Mess was not Spock, but a smiling Uhura.

"Lieutenant," he nodded pleasantly. "You're looking particularly cheerful this evening."

"And what's not to be cheerful about, Captain?" With another, enigmatic smile, she nodded as if to excuse herself. "You have a good evening, won't you?" She turned then, and walked gracefully away...

...to where Bones waited for her – at a table for two.

"You dog," Jim said to himself, with an enigmatic smile of his own. It was about damn time Bones pulled his head out of his ass.

Looking around the room, he spotted his own dinner date – _why the **fuck** did I just call him that?_ – standing by a table where Hikaru and Pavel had evidently just sat down to eat. From the distance at which he was standing, it was obviously impossible to gather the gist of the conversation between the three men – but then Hikaru stood to awkwardly pat Spock's shoulder, and Pavel's smile lit up the room.

_Good for you, Spock._

Jim had known, without ever having to discuss it with him, that his First would find a way to repair the earlier situation that had come up between himself, Sulu and Chekov. For all that the half-Vulcan purported not to understand human emotions, he was remarkably empathetic toward the mostly-human crew, and had often shown that he could maneuver through the difficulties presented by his emotional colleagues.

One day, Spock would make an excellent captain himself.

For reasons that he would leave unexamined for now, Jim found that he didn't care for that thought.

Fortunately for him, it was easy to push the idea aside, as Spock caught his eye across the room and came to join him for their dinner.

...

* * *

...

Nyota had the day off, and so was at her leisure to do whatever she wanted.

It just so happened that this morning, she wanted to pester Spock, and then, maybe, go down to Sickbay and flirt with McCoy a little bit.

_Friends, yes. Of course they were friends. _

_But my God – he's **gorgeous**. A blind woman could see that with Braille._

The thought of reading Leonard McCoy with Braille sent Nyota's mind off into all kinds of other interesting places – and she had to drag it back, kicking and screaming, to reality.

It was serendipity – certainly not planning, _never_ that – that caused her to run into Spock in the corridor on her way to breakfast.

She gave him her sweetest smile. "You talked to Jim yesterday, didn't you?"

Spock had the grace to look somewhat self-conscious. "Good morning, Nyota," he said pointedly. "The meaning of your previous question is unclear to me."

Standing on tiptoe, she gently kissed his cheek. "Bullshit, Spock." With a gentle pat on his arm, she smiled again. "I'm proud of you. Aren't you glad you did?"

Giving up on the pretense of ignorance, Spock inclined his head slightly. "It was difficult, and... exceedingly uncomfortable. However, I am, in fact, gratified that the conversation took place. It is, as Jim informs me, 'the kind of shit that happens between friends sometimes'. I can only hope that it does not happen frequently."

Nyota's eyes went wide, then she flung her arms around her friend's neck for a split-second hug. "You know, Spock – I think there may be hope for you yet. More than that, I think you and Jim may do one another a world of good." She shook her head slightly as she turned to walk away. "Though if you'd told me that on the day we had to peel your hands from around his throat, I'd sure have never believed it..."

She was a little surprised to see Hikaru waiting for her at breakfast; though she liked to get an early start on off-duty days, Hikaru had taken to sleeping in on days when he wasn't scheduled for Alpha Shift.

Or, at least "sleeping in" was what he and Pavel called it – and she really didn't want to think much more about it, thanks so much.

Nyota greeted him with a smile and an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "You're up early, 'Ru," she teased. "What's going on?"

He shrugged. "Not a lot, really – but I was wondering. Are you still getting a lot of submissions for the magazine?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. Now that people see what's going in there, it seems like there's even more interest. What about you – are you hearing from people?"

"Same as you – maybe even more than before. But..." Hikaru reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"This was stuck in my door sometime last night." Hesitantly, he held it out to her. "Does it look like the work of the same person who submitted anonymously last time?"

Feeling the sheet of paper and briefly scanning the typewritten font, Nyota nodded again, absently. "Looks exactly the same." She looked up at Hikaru, who still looked oddly self-conscious. "Two poems this time, though?"

"Ummm... yeah. And still no idea who's writing them."

Nyota looked quizzically at Hikaru, before returning her attention to the newest poems:

...

...

Fight with the sharp sword

Sword through solitary heart

Heart full of courage

Courage to finally love

Love knows it is worth the fight

...

...

**S**tarfleet had never

**E**ncountered anyone quite like you;

**V**aledictorians are usually at least a little older.

**E**agerness got you teased sometimes, and you were

**N**ever entirely sure of your place among the others.

**T**rue friendship – for the first time – gave you your place, your anchor

**E**ven though your brilliance was never meant to be

**E**arth-bound, never – your destiny, always, was to fly far above.

**N**ero, bent on destruction; you have an idea – "How old are you?"

**S**eventeen, sir.

**I**n case you've ever wondered, we are all glad that you were

**R**ight where you belonged.

...

...

"...I see," Nyota said softly. "You know who these poems are about."

Hikaru nodded, silently. "They almost made Pavel cry – and he'd _kill_ me if he knew I told you that."

She laughed at that. "Don't worry – the secret's safe with me."

Though now, she was more curious than ever about who was writing these poems – and set her mind to figuring out how she'd get to the bottom of that particular mystery.

Because if anyone could do it, it would be Nyota Uhura...

...

...

* * *

_**Well, now**. That's a little more like the length that I'm accustomed to cranking out with a chapter. (Still a mere paragraph or two compared to some of my Monster Chapters from Hell in "Both Ways" - but this is a different story in a lot of ways.)_

_And to those of you who got cranky with me after Chapters 5 & 6 - no cliffhanger this time, see?_

_'Cause I promised, and I'm cool like that._

_This particular chapter goes out with love and thanks to my muse/fiancee **T'Key'la**, who has been talking me off of all kinds of writing ledges recently, and to my dearest sweet darling **Abraxania**, who wrote me my very own birthday present - a wonderful Kirk/Bones fic called "**Motherhen**", which you should all go and read, right now._

_And yes. My birthday was Wednesday - so since you can't sing to me, you really ought to review, don't you think?_


	8. Structure and Substance

_Because I don't think we've seen enough of Pavel yet in this piece - here's some time with our favorite Russian whiz-kid..._

* * *

_**Love is the voice under all silences... **_

_** ~e.e. cummings**_

* * *

"I recognize your opening, Pavel – Kasparov used that one back in the 20th century to beat Topalov, right?"

Pavel nodded, impressed. "Exactly, Keptin." He flashed a cocky grin. "And I am going to have the same outcome. You see, no one plays chess as well as the Russians."

"Hey – hang on there. If Kasparov beat Topolov – wasn't he another Russian?"

"Negative, Jim." Spock chimed in. "Veselin Topolov was from the country of Bulgaria." Ignoring Chekov's preening, he went on, "And he eventually went on, over the course of his career, to be considered a more successful player than Kasparov."

Pavel's resulting glare was not tempered by Spock's next words. "Of course, neither man had a career comparable to that of Magnus Carlsen of Norway, who became a Grandmaster at the age of 13, and spent almost his entire career ranked as number one on Earth in the first half of the 21st century."

Jim shook his head, laughing. "Damn, Spock – how do you ever _get_ all this information?"

"In this case, Jim, it is simple. Many of the most famous matches of Kasparov, Topolov, Carlsen and other Terran chess Grandmasters were digitized, and they are used on Vulcan to train youngsters who wish to become proficient at the game."

"So, technically, Spock – you were able to beat these historical Grandmasters... or at least their simulations?"

"Indeed, Jim. Consistently."

"And, yet... I managed to beat you on a semi-regular basis." Jim looked entirely too impressed with himself. "What does that say about me, do you suppose?"

Pavel chuckled. "That's easy, Keptin. It says that Mr. Spock was trained against opponents whose strategy made some sort of mathematical sense to him – because chess can be broken down into algebra, if you really think about it, and the Grandmasters just have a better idea about that math than most people do. Your strategy –" he gestured to Jim's pieces on the board – "is to start out with what looks like a reasonable approach, and then do something – what is it you say? Oh, yes – _batshit crazy._" Smiling brightly at Jim, Pavel moved a rook. "Mr. Spock is not used to batshit crazy. Not yet, at least."

Spock acknowledged Pavel's remarks with a slight inclination of his head. "On the contrary, Pavel. Having spent over two years now on the _Enterprise_, I believe I have become acclimated to all manner of erratic human behavior. The captain's chess strategies, if one could refer to them in that way, are no longer startling to me – though they have not yet become predictable."

Jim reached over to move a pawn in front of his queen, amused indignation in his voice. "Are we going to let him talk about us that way, Chekov? 'Erratic human behavior', he says?" He snorted in derision. "Erratic, my ass – this is the best crew in Starfleet."

"Agreed, Captain – Jim. There is a respectable amount of data on record to back such an assertion. However, the members of the crew do have the human tendency to occasionally, if not frequently, behave in an illogical manner – or to make highly unusual statements."

Spock raised an eyebrow at Jim. "For example – the assertion you have just made that, in fact, your ass is erratic. I fail to see how such a circumstance is possible, as individual components of the human anatomy are typically not capable of achieving autonomy to behave independently of the body as a whole – erratically or otherwise."

Pavel smothered a laugh behind his hand, and Jim rolled his eyes.

"Oh, for God's sake, Pavel – don't encourage him. As soon as somebody laughs, he gets going on one of these comedy rolls, and then there's no getting any work out of him for the rest of the day."

Pavel grinned broadly at his two commanding officers as they good-naturedly bickered at one another. It was clear to him that their style of command – their unquestioning trust in one another's abilities, intelligence, and integrity – played a large role in the overall quality of the performance of the _Enterprise's_ crew. The two of them recognized that they worked best as a team, as their respective areas of strength and expertise were amazingly complementary.

_And,_ Pavel thought, watching them, _they're best friends_. Neither one of them would ever think of making an important decision without talking it through with the other.

And though he knew Kirk and Dr. McCoy were also best friends – had been close as brothers, ever since their days at the Academy – Pavel could see that the captain's friendship with Spock was just... different.

He couldn't exactly _describe_ the difference, but he could see it. It was just how – how one seemed to be able to know what the other was thinking. How Spock had developed the ability to actually _joke_ around Kirk – and how Kirk always realized when Spock was joking, immediately, even when no one else did.

How each of them looked at the other when they thought no one was watching.

How Spock was watching Kirk right now – even though all Jim was doing was staring at the chess board, contemplating his next move. Pavel was pretty sure that Spock didn't even realize he was doing it.

Then Spock noticed Pavel's scrutiny of him, and immediately looked away. No, he definitely hadn't realized he was staring.

If it weren't his Captain and his First Officer in question, Pavel Chekov would probably have found the situation to be kind of... _adorable. That's the word._

Then he caught Kirk watching Spock with the same intensity that Spock had demonstrated barely a minute ago.

_Yeah. So what if they're the Captain and the First – it's still adorable._ Pavel smiled to himself before breaking into the quiet of the room.

"Keptin, are you going to move? Because you will save us both time by admitting my superiority and surrendering."

"Oh, shut up, Pavel." Looking up from the board, Jim rolled his eyes at his young navigator. "You're not nearly as cute as you seem to think you are."

Eight moves later, algebra had gotten the better of batshit crazy – or, more to the point, Pavel had managed to take advantage of Jim's unusual degree of preoccupation – to win the match rather decisively.

Looking up at Jim with a smug little smile, he crowed, "Seems that I'm still cute enough to beat you, Keptin."

Jim snorted as he went to reset the pieces. "Spock? You want to defend my honor and mop the floor with this insufferable little shit?"

Spock's eyebrow rose. "I will assume that you are asking whether I will engage Pavel in a chess match, Jim – because I know that you are aware that the use of an officer as a floor-cleaning implement would break any number of Starfleet regulations."

Pavel snickered again, and Jim shook his head with a smile. "What did I tell you, Chekov? You laughed at him once today, and now he thinks he's ready to take his stand-up routine to fucking Vegas or something."

"I assure you, Jim," Spock said almost primly, "that is not the case." He rose gracefully from the chair he'd been occupying to observe Jim and Pavel's match. "However, I will not have time to indulge in a chess game with you today, Pavel. I have made arrangements to meet with Dr. Sulu in the Botany lab later this afternoon to look over initial data that has come in from our collection stations on Deneva."

Pavel always got a kick out of the way that Spock called Hikaru "Dr. Sulu" whenever they were working together on any kind of scientific project. On the bridge, Lt. Cmdr. Hikaru Sulu was the best pilot in Starfleet, and generally a BAMF. However, in the lab, he was Hikaru Sulu, Ph.D. – and Spock wasn't going to let anyone forget that.

Which was pretty awesome, really.

"That's right – Hikaru did mention that you were going to work in the lab with him today." Pavel looked over at Jim with a resigned expression. "Are they not knowing that a _day off_ means that you aren't supposed to work?"

Jim grinned back at him. "It's worse than that, Pavel. Those two are going up to Botany and basically reading e-mails from a bunch of plants... for _fun_." He began to put away the chess board. "And what are you doing this afternoon, Pavel?"

"I told Nyota that I'd help her and Chryssie Papagiannopoulos go through some of the new entries for the literary magazine. There's been a lot that's come in over just the past couple of days."

"So I hear. Though –" Jim shot a sidelong glance at Spock that he may have thought was more surreptitious than it actually was – "no more entries in the Day Planner of Captain Awesome, I'm told."

"Jim." Spock's voice was mildly reproving, as he noted Pavel's intense discomfort at the topic. Without waiting for a response from Kirk, Spock quickly changed the subject.

"Nyota informs me that the magazine has received more anonymous submissions of poetry. She seems... most curious as to the identity of the unknown poet."

"She certainly is." Pavel sent Spock a brief, grateful smile. "I'll admit that I wasn't particularly curious before – but these last two poems..."

"They're about the two of you – isn't that what I heard?" Jim sounded intrigued. "I'll be interested to see those."

"I... I liked them a lot," Pavel admitted. "Especially the poem about Hikaru." He smiled fondly, remembering. "It made him cry."

Suddenly he sat bolt upright, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Never say I said that, Keptin – _please_. Not even to make fun."

Pavel's eyes were wide, and he sounded absolutely miserable. "I know you two say things to tease each other, but..."

"Safe with me, Pavel." Jim reached over to pat his shoulder reassuringly. "Never heard it."

Spock was looking pensive, and slightly concerned. "I do not believe," he said slowly, "that... the poet's intention would have been to cause unhappiness on the part of the poem's subject."

Jim leaned forward in his chair, looking at Spock as though he were a particularly interesting new species. "And, Spock..." he asked, his expression radiating barely-repressed curiosity "– what do you surmise that... the poet's... intention was?"

But now Spock had assumed what Jim referred to as his "Don't fuck with me right now, or I'll go all Vulcan on your ass" expression, and only said blankly, "I am certain that I do not know."

He moved abruptly to the door of the Officers' Lounge. "Now, please excuse me. If anyone requires my presence, I will be in the Botany lab for the next 3.25 hours."

With that, he was gone – leaving Pavel and Jim to stare blankly at one another.

...

* * *

...

"...And he just _left_, then?" Nyota was wide-eyed.

"Just got up and left, Nyota. Keptin Kirk and I didn't know _what _to say about that."

"Well," Chryssie spoke up from her seat on Nyota's sofa, "If you're suggesting that Mr. Spock might be our anonymous poet, I'd have to say that the first poem – the sonnet – and the second one – the tanka – would both make more sense to come from a Vulcan than that last acrostic poem."

She put down her PADD, warming to her topic. "I mean, the sonnet – that's very precise in its construction. Syllables, accents, rhyme scheme – all of it. And then, the tanka – also very exact in terms of structure. Look at the lines; five syllables, then seven, then five, and seven, and seven. See? To me, that corresponds with the way a Vulcan might think. That last one? The acrostic poem? Now... that I don't know about, so much. Don't you think that would be a little – I don't know... _out there_?"

"What do you mean, 'out there'?" Pavel sounded more than a little indignant. "I thought it was wonderful."

Chryssie held up her hands, smiling. "No, Pavel – not like that. I loved it – I really did. I just meant that it's a little... unstructured... to be written by someone with such a mathematical mind as Commander Spock." She shrugged her shoulders. "Do you see what I mean?"

"I do, Chryssie." Nyota nodded. "Not that Spock isn't capable of thinking outside the box – after all, he is half-human, and he'd be the first to tell you that two years with us have corrupted him." She smiled mysteriously. "However, I'm beginning to have my own little theory as to who our mystery poet might be. Guess time will tell, though, won't it?"

At that moment, as if on cue, Christine Chapel came in through the bathroom that she and Nyota shared. In her hand, she held what was becoming a familiar-looking sheet of paper. Without ceremony, she flung herself onto Nyota's bed.

"Look what showed up in Sickbay today. Chryssie, it was at your station – I'm pretty sure whoever put it there didn't realize you had the day off." She handed to paper over to the tiny, dark-haired ensign. "So – what do you make of it?"

Chryssie looked intrigued as she read the poem. "This one," she announced, "is a really obscure form of poetry. I mean, really obscure." She smoothed out the folded paper on her lap. "It's called a 'ghazal' – it dates back from ancient Persia. These particular poems have an important word –" she tapped the poem with her forefinger for emphasis – "that repeats again and again, throughout every stanza. Whoever did this one was really doing their history homework – or else they're really into some seriously old poetry. I mean, like 10th century AD on Earth – so, what..."

"Thirteen hundred years ago," Pavel chimed in. "What's it like? Is this one about anybody, do you think?"

Chryssie's expression was guarded. "I wouldn't want to guess, Pavel – I really haven't been on board long enough to know everyone as well as you all do." She handed the paper to Nyota. "See what you think."

Nyota seized the paper eagerly, scanning it quickly at first. Pavel, watching her closely, saw her expression slowly changing; she smiled softly, and went back to read it again – and then again, after that.

Finally, she put it down, absently smoothing the paper on her lap as Chryssie had done a few minutes before.

Then she handed the paper over to Pavel with a small, secret smile.

"Well," she said, "looks like my theory's shot."

Pavel had to fight his urge to read the piece quickly – instead, trying to think about what was in front of him on the page.

_Yeah, Nyota,_ he thought. _If you thought it was him, I'd say you were wrong, too..._

...

...

Too many endings; I want a beginning.

Look far, and see the universe beginning.

...

Everything came crashing to an end.

Who knew that it was really a beginning?

...

Thinking of another life at home,

A daughter's life that he can't watch beginning.

...

Life is short; then fight to give us all

More time between the end and the beginning.

...

Looking into eyes as dark as night,

To see starlight of happiness beginning.

...

Feeling empty places start to fill,

And smiling at a story that's beginning.

...

Space is cold and dark; you never were –

I could have told you that from the beginning.

...

...

* * *

_**Next chapter** **- Bones and Nyota! **_

_And, happy b-day, Yukiko202, and happy belated, GoGothGirl! Pisces RULE.  
_

_Meanwhile, I'll tell you a secret..._

_ I've discovered that I'm much more likely to get motivated to update if I hear from you - so hit that pretty green button and tell me what you think, won't you?_


	9. Movie Night

"I'll have what she's having."

~"When Harry Met Sally"

***

* * *

***

"So... what's on for 'M to the Fourth' tonight?"

Leonard McCoy chuckled, in spite of himself. It was well-known among his friends that he had a boundless love – and a truly mind-boggling collection – of old 20th century vids, and what had started as an occasional get-together in his quarters for what he called "movie night" had turned into a weekly occurrence. Since it turned out that most of the command crew typically had Tuesdays as one of their days off-duty, Monday night had become the night of choice for their little gatherings.

Of course, Jim – the little prick – couldn't resist giving the event a name: "McCoy's Moldy Movie Monday."

M to the Fourth.

"My turn to pick this week, Pavel – so it'll be something manly, that's for sure. I was thinkin' maybe 'Rocky' tonight – you seen that one?"

Pavel paused, considering. "Don't think so, no. It's good?"

McCoy nodded emphatically. "It's fantastic. And none of that girly shit – not in this movie. Just men – real men – knockin' the living daylights out of each other."

Chris Chapel joined them at the table where the two men were eating dinner. "How comforting to all of us to know that the person who's in charge of our physical well-being gets off on watching people getting beaten up."

"Why else would I be friends with Jim?" She snickered in reply; the Captain did have an uncanny tendency to get himself into some interesting situations that ended up in some sort of damage to his person.

"So, Chris," McCoy continued, "will you be there tonight?"

"That's the plan, Doc." She rolled her eyes. "Even if it is going to be an evening of watching a bunch of testosterone-laden grunts."

Chris smiled wickedly. "At least they're _well-built_ testosterone-laden grunts. And..." she looked knowingly over at Pavel, "It just so happens that I know a particularly good drinking game for 'Rocky,' as well. You'll like it, I'm sure."

"Dammit, Christine, what is it with you and these drinking games? It's a wonder you made it through nursing school if you drank even a tenth as much as it sounds like you did."

"Nah, Doc – I never said I _participated _in all the drinking games. But you don't grow up in a house with five big brothers without picking up at least a few useful skills." She raised an eyebrow at him meaningfully. "I can also deliver a pretty effective Atomic Wedgie."

Pavel looked at McCoy and Chapel in turn, a look of bafflement on his face. "Atomic... what?"

McCoy snorted. "Don't ask, kid. Just hope you never end up on the receiving end of one of 'em."

*~*~*

"Everybody ready?"

"Aye, Leonard. But none o' that horse piss –" Scotty gestured toward Christine's stock of Miller Lite – "for me tonight. I brought along the good stuff." Triumphantly, he raised a bottle of Glenmorangie.

"Holy hell, man – where did you get real Scotch all the way out here?" The doctor's eyes were wide.

Scotty rolled his eyes in response. "Ye'll no' believe, then, that perhaps it came from Scotland?"

"Nobody likes a smart ass, Mr. Scott." McCoy sent him a withering glare, then reached toward the bottle. "And since I'm hosting this little shin-dig, I think I've got some right to a nice little glass of this. Especially," he added, glaring at the gathered group at large, "since I seem to be one of the only ones with enough sense not to ruin a perfectly good movie with an idiotic drinking game."

"Call it idiotic if you want," Pavel chimed in, "but it sounds like fun to me." Of course, as always, he'd come equipped with his own supply of Jewel of Russia vodka – one of the last remnants of an entire case that Hikaru had bought him for his eighteenth birthday.

"Is Hikaru going to get you some more of that for this next birthday of yours, Pav?" Nyota was busy on the other side of the room, putting the finishing touches on the snacks. She and Leonard took turns – on weeks when he picked the movie, she did the refreshments, and vice versa. They'd fallen into the routine without even realizing it – and by the time they did realize it, they figured it was working, so why argue with success?

"I don't know if Hikaru will even know what I still look like on my next birthday, with all the overtime he's having to put in." Pavel was obviously put out. "I wish Kirk and Spock didn't need him quite so much these days."

"I know, Pav," Nyota replied sympathetically. "Hopefully, that project will be finished sooner rather than later."

Leonard shot a significant glance in Nyota's direction that Pavel, fortunately, missed. As it happened, Pavel was the only one in the room who was unaware of the real nature of Hikaru's "overtime." In fact, the pilot was using every possible spare moment to work on an insanely intricate project with which he hoped to surprise Pavel on his birthday. He'd already been at it for over a month, and had another couple months before Pav turned 20 – but he was scrambling to get his work done, even with the help and complicity of his friends throughout the ship.

Meanwhile, Nyota had promised Hikaru that they'd do what they could to keep Pavel occupied so he could get more done. Tonight, Kirk and Spock had even forgone their chess game to be of assistance to Hikaru – and that, Nyota knew, was A Big Deal.

"So, Chris – how about you give these idiots the rules to your drinkin' game so we can get the vid started."

"Sure, Doc." Pulling out her PADD, she read, "Rocky drinking game rules. First, each player starts with one glass of beer." She looked around at the various beverages in the room. "Or, in this case, a glass of whatever. Then, throughout the movie, you take a drink at the following times: every time Rocky throws a punch – one drink. Every time Rocky starts shadow boxing – one drink.

Every time someone says "Italian Stallion" – one drink. Every time some says "Rocky" – one drink. Rocky says, "Yo, Adrian!" – you kill whatever's left in the glass."

Random hooting from around the room greeted her last instruction. "So, Doc... start 'er up!"

Two hours later, the atmosphere in McCoy's quarters was definitely... different. Chapel was draped across a chair in a position that people weren't normally able to achieve. From her somewhat upside-down vantage, she announced emphatically, "You're gonna eat lightnin' and you're gonna crap thunder!"

Nyota, who had stuck to iced tea for the evening, turned to Leonard, smiling wryly. "Hear that? If that's the case, you're going to be pretty busy in Sickbay for a while."

Leonard took a look around at the few people still left in the room – Chapel, hanging upside-down off of McCoy's best chair; Scotty, who seemed to have fallen asleep on the floor sometime during the climactic last fight; Pavel, who was still watching the screen intently from his spot on the sofa – even though there was nothing playing anymore.

He walked over to Christine, hauling her into a more upright position by both hands. "Wake him up if you can, will ya, Nyota?" He gestured to Scotty with a tilt of his head. "And is Hikaru in Spock's quarters doin' his... overtime tonight?"

"Yeah, they're at Spock's," she said over her shoulder as she bent to shake Scotty awake. "All right, laddie – time for you to go to bed."

Scotty blinked – once, twice – then shook his head briefly. "What did ya say, lass?"

Nyota put on her best "punk" voice. "I said, I want you outta here instamatically."

She smiled to herself as she heard Leonard laughing behind her.

Scotty got to his feet, and he and Chris each threw an arm around the other to support themselves on their journey back to the corridor where both their quarters were located; they'd done this before, more than once, and were pretty good at it.

Meanwhile, Leonard had called Spock over his intercom. "Could ya get Sulu for me, Spock? I've got somethin' of his down here that he needs to come pick up."

Hikaru's voice came over the speaker. "Is Pav okay, Doc?"

McCoy looked over at Pavel; his head was starting to nod, just a little. "Yeah, Hikaru – he's fine. He just went a couple of rounds with a bottle of vodka, and I think he lost."

"Okay, Doc – I'll be down in just a second."

At that point, Pavel perked up. "But I'm not _drunk_, 'Karu! I'm just... _tired_. That's all." He stood unsteadily for a moment, then allowed himself to drop back onto the sofa before trying his own imitation of Rocky. "Yo! 'Karu!" He found himself to be inordinately amusing.

"Like I said, Doc. I'm on my way."

By the time Hikaru had arrived a couple minutes later, Pavel was out cold, resisting any and all attempts to wake him.

"Want me to give him a detox hypo? That'd get him back to the room on his own power, at least."

"No, Doc – I've got him." Bending down, Hikaru scooped Pavel up in his arms, laughing a little at the warm bundle of limply hanging arms and legs that he held. "He's heavier than he looks – but it's not like it's that far."

"Well, here's a hypo for him in the morning, at least." McCoy stuck a packet into Hikaru's back pocket. "You shouldn't have to deal with him with a hangover on your day off."

"Thanks, Doc." Pushing the button with his elbow, Hikaru opened the door and was gone.

Nyota had just gotten rid of the last of the empty beer glasses and popcorn bowls. "Well, that was an... interesting evening, wouldn't you say?" She gave Leonard an amused smile. "I'm just as glad I stayed sober – turns out our friends were as good of a show as the movie."

"Just goes to show that you and I are the only ones around here with a lick of sense." Leonard was straightening up the sofa cushions that had been dislodged by Pavel and Christine as they had become increasingly... _comfortable _throughout the course of the evening.

"Next week, though, it's a good thing that I'll be picking the movie. I'll be sure to find one that doesn't have any drinking games." Leonard's laugh made her smile again.

She turned to him then. "You don't do that nearly enough."

He looked baffled. "Do what enough?"

"Laugh. You have a fantastic laugh."

_Honey,_ she thought, _you have a fantastic everything._

He looked endearingly self-conscious. "Well, things aren't all that funny as a general rule."

"So, next week I should pick a comedy? Because I really, really like your laugh." Nyota knew that her smile was maybe just a little more than _friendly_ – but she didn't have a problem with that.

"Darlin', you go with whatever genre you want. I'll like it, I promise." He had a great smile, too.

Out of nowhere, she asked, "So, Len – you and I... what _genre_ are we?"

At first he looked just as confused as before – but he went with it. "Let's see... a gorgeous, brilliant woman who's willing to hang out with a cranky old country doctor out in the middle of space? Hmmm... I'd call that science fiction, wouldn't you?"

She turned an absolutely brilliant smile on him as she headed toward the door. "Tell you the truth, Len, I don't know what I'd call it."

He'd come to the door with her – _because a gentleman wouldn't have a lady let herself out, would he? _– and stood ready to press the button to open the door when she moved just a step closer. A random thought came to him from nowhere.

_Roses. She smells like roses._

Leonard didn't dare look down, but he didn't have to; the rest of his body was letting him know, loud and clear, that yes, sir, those were, in fact, Nyota's breasts that were pressed – just ever so slightly – against his chest.

_Oh, dear Lord in heaven._

Then she stood on tiptoe, just barely brushing her lips against his – just for a second.

"And... what genre was that?" she asked, her voice the barest whisper.

Leonard was struggling to catch his breath, to reengage his brain, to put together a coherent sentence.

_Struggling to be a gentleman, and not to grab her and back her up against that door and kiss her senseless..._

"I'd... call that fantasy, darlin'," he choked out. "As in – I think it's gonna be figurin' pretty prominently in mine for the foreseeable future."

Then Nyota leaned forward again, and for a moment he thought she might kiss him again – and he sure as hell didn't know how he'd withstand that kind of temptation twice in one night. So he was relieved – of course he was – when she simply whispered in his ear instead.

"I know. Mine, too."

Reaching past him then to push the button herself – she pretty much had to, as he seemed unable to move – she opened Leonard's door and was gone.

*~*~*

It was a while before Pavel stopped getting teased for being "tired" – though he knew that he could drink any of the people who were teasing him right under the table... and, of course so did they. Mostly because he had, repeatedly, and likely would again.

The hangovers in the aftermath of "Rocky" had been memorable enough that Nyota's choice the following week – "When Harry Met Sally" – was well-received by even the most inveterate partiers.

By the end, everyone was feeling just a little bit gooey and romantic – it was just that kind of vid. Then Mike Giotto, a huge, burly teddy-bear of a man who was in charge of Security for the Enterprise, inadvertently broke the mood when turned to his girlfriend Sonja Rogers, an ensign who worked for Nyota in Communications.

"That whole thing where she was faking the... you know." He looked around the room a little uncomfortably. "Women don't really do that... do they?"

The women in the room – all of them – simultaneously burst into laughter, much to the dismay of the men around them.

Chris Chapel smiled. "What was it Sally said? 'All men are sure it never happened to them, and all women at one time or other have done it, so you do the math.' So... you guys are Starfleet officers – you ought to be pretty good at math."

She looked over at Nyota, who had a wicked gleam in her eye. "Oh, girl – you're thinking what I'm thinking, aren't you?" Christine was positively gleeful.

And thus began a demonstration of sorts from the assembled ladies, proving to the assembled gentlemen that each of them was, in fact, perfectly capable of faking the... you know. By the end, nobody was able to continue "faking" without giggling uncontrollably – mostly at the shocked faces of the menfolk.

The gathering broke up not long after that, with the women still looking smug and the men looking decidedly... rattled.

As had become her habit, Nyota remained behind, helping Leonard straighten up as they chatted companionably about anything and everything.

"Betcha Giotto and Rogers are gonna have something to talk about for a while," Leonard said with a chuckle.

"No doubt," Nyota agreed, smiling ruefully.

"I couldn't help noticing, though, Len – we didn't seem to freak you out much with our little talent show." She tilted her head slightly, smiling at him somewhat quizzically.

"Nah, Nyota – you forget, I was married. I know all about that sorta thing from bitter experience."

"Len, you _can't_ be serious. What kind of woman would _possibly_ need to fake it with... Oh, God."

Nyota clapped a hand over her mouth, looking as though she wanted to sink right into the floor out of sheer embarrassment. "Can you pretend I didn't just say that?"

***

* * *

_***_

_But of course she said it. Heck, we'll all say it. _

_Because... Bones? Oh, yeah, baby. :-)_

_Next chapter is more of these two -- though under rather different circumstances._

_Meanwhile, you know what I'm going to ask you to do now... right?_


	10. Long Stories and Small Revelations

_**A/N:** After last chapter, which was a lot of goofy fluff, I felt like I ought to warn you that this chapter took a bit of a dark turn on me. Sometimes, the characters just take the story into their own hands – and that's what happened this time around. _

_(And for those of you who have been reading my other piece, "Both Ways at Once" – you know all my "amazing expanding chapters__?__" Well, that's what happened here; this was still supposed to be Chapter 9. but this scene wanted a chapter of its own.)_

_Long note – sorry!_

_***_

_

* * *

*_**

**"_Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars."_**

_~Kahlil Gibran _

_

* * *

_***

Nyota felt her cheeks flaming. _What the hell is it about this man that short-circuits the filter between my brain and my mouth?_

"...Can you pretend I didn't just say that?"

To her surprise, he laughed delightedly. "Not in a million years, sweetheart – that's a hell of a compliment, and I'm glad to have it."

He reached over to affectionately tug her ponytail. "Come on over here and sit with me a while. It's early yet." Lowering himself down onto the sofa, he smiled invitingly up at her, patting the place next to him.

_This is new_, Nyota reflected. She and Len had taken to spending a lot of time together, but never alone – or at least, not in private. Sure, there was the occasional meal in the Officers' Mess where they had a table – and some time – to themselves, but they'd made it almost an unspoken understanding that they somehow weren't supposed to be together by themselves.

_So, yeah. This is new. Not bad – not at all – but new. _

She sank down into the soft cushions – Leonard, unsatisfied with standard Starfleet issued furniture, had brought his own sofa with him when the _Enterprise_ took off on its five-year mission, and Nyota had found more than one occasion to be grateful for that little indulgence on his part.

Not really sure how this was supposed to go – or where, in fact, it was going at all – Nyota sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Leonard.

_After all,_ she reasoned, _you can always get closer if need be. Besides, you don't need to look too easy, girl._

_Though God knows you would be._

"All right, now, Lieutenant – off with those boots." All of a sudden, he had what she called his "doctor voice" – and damned if that wasn't just a little bit hot. Without thinking, she did as he'd asked, and reached down to unzip her boots.

Then she froze, and Leonard was surprised when she looked up at him with an odd, self-conscious expression on her lovely face. "You have to promise not to laugh, though."

"What – do you have six toes on one foot or something? I think that woulda shown up in your medical files, though." He gave her a quizzical smile of his own.

"No." She wasn't _blushing_, was she? "It's just that I have... well..." She went ahead and unzipped her boots. "I have... really ridiculous socks."

She slipped off her boots, then – and sure enough, under those almost knee-high boots, she did have on the damnedest-looking crazy knee-high socks he'd probably ever seen.

Not, of course, that he'd ever really spent much time looking at women's socks...

These were striped – all the brightest, most eye-popping colors imaginable, all over the place – and when Leonard looked more closely, he noticed that the two socks weren't even from the same pair.

_Which is just plain adorable_.

Smiling – and ignoring her little squeak of surprise – he reached down and pulled her feet, goofy socks and all, into his lap.

"Len – what are you... oh, my..."

Any protest Nyota may have considered disappeared completely as he started massaging her aching feet. Normally, she'd have been able to go back to her own quarters to change out of her uniform before it was time to come to Leonard's – but tonight she'd been needed on the bridge long past the end of her own shift, and had barely made it down in time for the start of the vid.

And yeah, those boots were Starfleet issue, specially designed by scientists who supposedly knew what they were doing – and she'd have to admit that they looked pretty good on her. But damn -- after more than twelve hours, they were starting to _hurt_.

And what he was doing was so good, it ought to be illegal.

"Oh, my goodness, Len..." Her voice sounded suspiciously like a purr. "How did you know...?"

Blissfully, Nyota let her eyes close as she relaxed into the wonderful rhythm of those strong, sinfully wonderful hands as they worked their magic on her feet and up the tight muscles of her calves.

"Well, darlin', you came straight here from the bridge, so I knew you'd been up and on your feet for a long time. And say what you want about these damn boots – after a while, you just don't wanna have 'em on anymore." He smiled down at her, his voice warm. "It's the least a friend can do."

She laughed softly at that. "Well, I've got a news flash for you. None of my other friends _ever_ do this – this is a first."

Leonard was a little surprised by the fierce voice inside him that said, _Good. And nobody else had better try it, either._

He was feeling oddly possessive tonight toward this beautiful woman – with her tired feet, and ridiculous socks, and sweet, embarrassed smile...

… and gorgeous, sleek legs that looked as though they might go on for-fucking-_ever_, and soft, lush lips, and...

_Stop it, McCoy. Stop thinking about that shit **right now**._

_Yeah. Good luck with that..._

"You know, Len – you like to try to pull off that 'I'm just a cranky old country doctor' crap, but when it comes down to it, you've got a pretty big streak of 'knight in shining armor' going on. You can fool some of these people – and you even fooled me for a while – but not anymore."

She hadn't opened her eyes as she spoke, but the smile was still there, just for him.

_Not for anybody else, dammit._

"Not much of a knight, unfortunately – never quite got the hang of wearin' armor – but I got pretty good at these foot rubs when I was little and my mom would come home after being on her feet all day. She taught elementary school, and those little shits ran her ragged. She liked it when I'd rub her feet for her, and I liked doin' it for her... so it all worked out."

"I'd like to meet your mom one of these days – I bet she's an original." Nyota tried to imagine what kind of a woman would have raised a son like Leonard. Everything she'd heard about Leonard's mom – mostly bits and pieces from Jim – made her think that she'd probably like Eleanora McCoy – a lot.

There was silence between them for a while – not of the strained, uncomfortable sort, but just a relaxed kind of stillness that left both Leonard and Nyota to their own thoughts... whatever those happened to be.

When he glanced her way again, he saw that she was looking at his face with an unaccustomed concentration.

"What're you lookin' at, darlin'?" Leonard's voice was a low rumble in the quiet room.

The lights were still down – they'd never brought them back up after the vid stopped – and a small table lamp near the sofa threw Leonard's distinctive features into sharp relief.

Nyota couldn't stop looking at that handsome face; the almost luminous hazel eyes, that sexy mouth that looked like it was just made to be kissed, the strong, masculine jaw...

...And one tiny flaw.

"Where'd you get that?" She gestured vaguely toward his jawline.

"Get what?"

Damn. He knew what she meant – but... _damn_.

That really, _really_ wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss tonight.

"That scar – there near your jaw, over by your chin."

It wasn't much of a scar, really – it was only remarkable because in these days of dermal regeneration, scars were nearly unheard-of. For a medical professional to have one – well, that was particularly odd. She'd noticed it before, wondered about it – but had kept her curiosity to herself. Tonight seemed like the kind of night for long stories and small revelations – so she decided, on an impulse, that this would be the time to ask.

She hadn't expected that shuttered look that suddenly appeared in those expressive, beautiful hazel eyes of his.

"Len? If it's something you'd rather not..."

"I was seventeen, Nyota. Out in the middle of backwoods nowhere, Sumter County, Georgia." He stopped for a moment, as though looking back. "Now, don't get me wrong. It's out in the sticks, for sure – but I love it there. Best people in the world in that part of the country, mostly. Just not all of 'em."

She noticed that he really wasn't talking to her anymore – he was just talking. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she did – she just _knew_ that whatever he was going to say was going to... matter, somehow.

That it was something she needed to know.

"We had some neighbors. Now, not neighbors like you probably think of neighbors – our houses were miles apart, out there. But Brandy and Jackson Simpkins had a farm not far from where we lived."

He paused for a moment – and just by looking at him, she knew better than to ask anything.

"Brandy – she was a beauty, or had been, when she was younger. Jackson – he was probably a charmer at some point, but by the time I was old enough to think about him one way or the other, he was a drunk. Rumor was that he was using drugs, too – but it didn't much matter. Part that mattered was that whenever things weren't goin' his way, he'd take it out on her. This –" he absently stroked his scar with a fingertip – "came from me makin' him stop it – or at least, tryin' to."

_Knight in shining armor – just like I said,_ Nyota thought. But that look on his face told her that the story wasn't over – not yet.

'Yeah, I was some dumb-ass kid, thinkin' I could punch him in the face to make him stop punchin' her in the face. How I thought I was gonna do that when her papa, her brothers, hell, even the sheriff hadn't been able to manage it – well, I don't guess I really even stopped to think about it much."

He sighed, a sharp, painful exhalation. "But when I walked up their front porch to bring back the drill my dad had borrowed... and saw Jackson backhand Brandy right out the damn front door... well, thinkin' wasn't even part of what I did that day."

Nyota's voice was small in the sudden quiet. "He gave you that scar?"

Leonard nodded. "He did. He picked up a two-by-four off the porch and started swingin' it wherever – and managed to mess up my face pretty good. But while he was doin' it, Brandy had time to get away, to run over to our place, to my mother. 'Cause there wasn't any problem my mama couldn't fix, and everybody around knew it. So Mom called the sheriff, and he came and got Jackson."

"And... that was it?"

That sigh, again. "No. No, it wasn't. He got out on bail later that day – turns out he had a cousin in the District Attorney's office – and went back home. So did Brandy – God only knows why. She told Mom it was because she was his wife, and she loved him, and he needed her."

The silence stretched between them again.

"Didn't take him 'til nightfall to finish what he started; he beat her to death – probably with that same two-by-four."

Nyota shuddered, involuntarily. "And... you didn't go get the cut taken care of?"

She still couldn't figure out why he had that scar.

Except she could...

"Have a doctor take a regenerator to it? Make it go away, like it never happened?" Leonard's voice was quiet, bitter. "Brandy didn't get a regenerator. I didn't want one, either."

And then, all at once, it became clear to her – and she realized that she'd already known, after all.

"You think it's your fault. All these years, and you still think it's your fault."

He hadn't looked directly at her the whole time he'd recounted the story. Now he turned to her, and her heart ached to see the pained, almost haunted look in his eyes.

"I did, then – and for a long time afterward. I know better, now. But, dammit, Nyota – she was the first person I'd ever tried to save... and I couldn't. Lord knows she sure wasn't the last."

She watched him -- just watched -- in the lengthening silence. He hadn't looked away, but watched her intently, as well; it was almost as though he was daring her to try to come up with something to say to make it all better, after all these years.

Nyota knew words – knew them, probably, better than anyone on the _Enterprise_. She was the Communications Officer; words were her daily tools, and she knew how to make them serve her.

She knew that words had enormous power; she could take words and make them friendly, cutting, diplomatic, or sexy as hell. There wasn't much, really, that Nyota Uhura couldn't do with words.

Nyota knew words well enough to know when they were utterly useless.

This was one of those times.

Silently, she shifted her position on the sofa so that she was halfway across Leonard's lap – able to wrap her arms around him, and to tuck her head into the solid curve of his shoulder. He accepted that wordless comfort gratefully, strong arms tightening around her to pull her even closer to him.

Maybe she'd fallen asleep first; maybe he had. Either way, they'd found themselves still twined together like that hours later, far into the night.

***

* * *

***

**_Told you so._**

**_And now, my spring break is over -- so these quick (for me, at least) updates are probably at an end for a while. _**

**_But I do really, really appreciate all of you who have added this piece to your alerts & favorites -- it's blown me away, honestly._**

**_I like it even better when you review, though. ;-)_**


	11. Collaboration

_**I imagine that yes is the only living thing.**_

_**~ e.e. cummings **_

_**

* * *

**_

Adrenaline rushing through him like an electric current, Kirk seized the elbow that flew toward his face, using his opponent's own momentum to send him hurtling toward a nearby wall.

Quickly righting himself, Spock bounced back to his feet, launching himself with a kick to Jim's neck. Dodging the kick, Jim ducked under Spock's leg, rolling back in a neat somersault before landing effortlessly upright again.

Even through the exertion and quick responses that their sparring demanded, part of Spock's mind remained separate; he felt, he decided, almost like a spectator instead of a participant. Without conscious intent, Spock found himself watching, admiring...

_No. These observations do not constitute admiration. Simply analysis._

_Yes... he was __**analyzing**_ the fluid, graceful nature of Jim's movements as he ducked, darted, counterattacked.

Breathing hard, Jim stopped briefly, moving off the mat to take off his shirt. He was obviously overheated, as his face was flushed and his upper torso was shining with more perspiration than was usually caused by this kind of physical exertion on its own.

Moreover, Spock noted, Jim had obviously benefited from the increased frequency of his sparring sessions with Lt. Cmdr. Sulu – the muscles of his shoulders and chest were more prominent and clearly-defined than they had been the last time Spock had seen Jim without his shirt.

That had been 54.23 solar days ago, when Spock had stopped by Jim's quarters to speak to him about a personnel matter in the Science labs – and Jim had granted him entry to his quarters even though he was not yet entirely dressed after a shower.

Of course, it was perfectly logical to remember the circumstances so clearly. Spock's memory was, as always, quite flawless.

"Spock?" Jim was speaking to him, with just the smallest hint of concern in his voice. "You all right over there?" Spock realized at that point that he had essentially frozen in place, preoccupied by...

"I am perfectly well, Jim."

Preoccupied by nothing. Not preoccupied. "Are you ready to resume?"

Jim still had his shirt in his hands, and brought it up to his face now to wipe away some excess perspiration. "Nah – I think I'm done with this for tonight, if that's okay with you. We can call it a draw, maybe?"

"Of course, Capt- Jim." He observed Jim speculatively. "Are you overly fatigued this evening? I know that your sparring sessions with Sulu are typically of significantly longer duration than this." Spock, of course, was not disappointed that Jim had cut their evening's activities short. Disappointment was a human emotion, and illogical.

Jim laughed, dropping down gracefully to sit on a stack of mats near the wall. "Sulu's amazing – don't get me wrong – he's gotten to where he can work me over pretty good as often as not. But I've gotta tell you, working out with you kicks my ass a lot sooner, Spock. Your stamina is just crazy; you _never_ wear out, man. And I'm pretty sure you're holding back on me so you don't accidentally do me some real damage."

"Such is not the case, Jim," Spock replied sincerely. "I will admit that I did make such an effort the first few times we engaged in sparring – making allowances for my greater Vulcan strength – but I learned quickly that you were an opponent against whom I could not afford to hold back." He raised an eyebrow in what Jim had learned to interpret as amusement. "I have, however, learned to try to avoid damaging your face in any way during our sparring. It upsets Dr. McCoy when I do so."

Jim smiled appreciatively, leaning back to lie flat on his back on the mats. "And here I thought you _liked_ to upset Bones. I was kinda under the impression that you do that for fun, Spock."

Spock lifted a scornful eyebrow. "I am unaware of any activity which I might undertake for enjoyment that would involve Dr. McCoy in any way." Jim snorted a brief laugh.

There was a brief silence between them for a while after that. Before long, he raised himself up on his elbows, looking at Spock with an expression that was suddenly oddly tentative before looking away again. When he spoke, still not meeting Spock's eyes, his tone was hesitant – even slightly uncomfortable – as well.

_Puzzling._

"So... umm... Spock. Don't know if you've got a lot planned this evening, but I thought if, uh, you had some spare time, you might stop by my quarters after we've both had a chance to get cleaned up? I had, umm... an idea – yeah, an idea... and I'd like to run it past you. If you've got some time, I mean."

Spock heard himself answering, without having devoted any conscious thought to a response. "In fact, I have no other plans for the evening, Jim; I would be entirely willing to discuss any ideas that you wish to share with me." He was intrigued to notice that Jim had been holding himself with a degree of tension – and that he had relaxed, just slightly, at Spock's acceptance of his invitation.

Almost as though he were relieved. Fascinating.

"Will a period of 30 minutes be sufficient for you to shower and change before I report to your quarters, Jim, or do you require more time?" Spock found himself becoming increasingly curious as to the nature of the idea which Jim wanted to discuss with him – particularly because Jim seemed reluctant to mention it. Usually, Jim was very free with his thoughts around Spock; he had long since become used to his captain throwing out random, half-formed ideas and conjectures, almost as though Jim trusted Spock to pick up on his meaning and finish Jim's sentences for him.

Spock realized, with something approaching surprise, that in fact, that was usually what ended up happening. He would finish Jim's sentences – or Jim would finish Spock's – or the two of them would simply allow a half-spoken sentence to go unfinished, since both of them already clearly understood what would have been said anyway.

"No, half an hour's fine, Spock – that's plenty of time." Jim consulted the chronometer as he hoisted himself into a standing position. "So, I'll see you – my quarters, 1945 hours?"

"I will be there at that time, Jim." Spock watched Jim walk out of the rec room before going to collect his gear to return to his own quarters.

Curiosity was not really an emotion; it could be described more accurately as a desire for more complete knowledge. Therefore, Spock concluded that his extreme curiosity about his upcoming discussion with Jim was not out of keeping with his Vulcan heritage.

Which was for the best, because he was reasonably certain that he would have been unable to control it, regardless.

...

* * *

...

He was going to make an idiot of himself in front of Spock. Humiliate himself completely. Again. He just knew it.

But there was always that chance that he wasn't – and it was a chance that, for his own peace of mind, Jim knew he was going to have to take.

He damn near jumped out of his skin when there was a buzz at his door at... 1943 hours? Either it was somebody other than Spock, or the walking chronometer himself was running early.

"Enter."

Good. That didn't sound like someone had just startled the shit out of him – sounded all captain-ly, and all that crap.

"Spock. Thanks for coming by." Jim figured it was probably best not to remark on Spock's timing not being accurate to the nearest millisecond for the first time in memory – Spock was already looking... _well, maybe a little anxious_.

Of course, he looked as expressionless as ever – to anyone who didn't know him. But Jim had long since learned Spock's little tells – the tiny nuances of posture, the tilt of his head, the set of his mouth...

...Oh, for God's sake. He was a fucking _woman_ for even thinking like that.

_The set of his mouth? Seriously? _

_Shit, Kirk._

His First Officer still stood just inside the doorway, waiting.

"I'm sorry, Spock. Come in – have a seat." Jim indicated one of the chairs around what passed for his coffee table – in what he euphemistically called his "living room." As Spock sat down, Jim followed suit in the other chair immediately next to him.

"Can I get you something to drink? Some tea, maybe? My replicator's fixed, now, so you can get that spiced stuff you like again." Jim had, in fact, set his replicator for any number of Spock's preferences – rationalizing that it just made sense, considering that Spock was in Jim's quarters for one reason or another nearly every evening.

They hadn't really planned it that way, but over the course of the past couple years that they'd worked together, their evening discussions had undergone a gradual metamorphosis. They'd started with Captain Kirk and Commander Spock meeting as a command team, occasionally discussing ship's business in the captain's office after their duty shifts had ended.

By accident, they had learned of their mutual interest in chess – which had led to a match every so often after the business discussion had ended. Eventually, these evenings had turned into chess matches with some ship's business thrown in as an afterthought – and with a great deal of other discussion thrown in as well.

Then about a year ago – when Spock and Uhura ended their romantic relationship – Jim had noted that Spock seemed not quite to know what to do with his sudden increase in spare time, and so he took to inviting Spock for chess, or tea, or whatever, after their shifts had ended for the day.

Without either of them being able to pinpoint exactly when it had happened, they'd fallen into a habit of spending part of almost every evening together – sometimes sparring in the rec room, sometimes at one of McCoy's weekly movie nights, but usually here, in Jim's quarters, talking about nothing and everything.

And since their discussion a couple of weeks ago – _discussion_ wasn't nearly a big enough word for it, but Jim lacked a better one – it seemed that he and Spock had reached a new level of mutual understanding. There was, it seemed to Jim, a lot less _nothing_ and a lot more _everything_ in their long, rambling talks.

A PADD on Jim's table had caught Spock's attention – no doubt due to the unusual brightly-colored graphics displayed on the screen.

Crap. He knew he'd forgotten something; he'd wanted to clear that stupid thing before Spock got here.

But now Spock had picked up the PADD, and was looking at the screen with a very odd expression indeed.

"Jim. _Green Eggs and Ham_?"

Jim was certain that his mouth was hanging wide open at this point - because that wasn't the cover, or even the title page, on the screen. So, how did he...?

"Spock. That's a Terran kid's book from..."

"Exactly 300 Terran years ago; it was originally published in 1960." Spock's tone was entirely matter-of-fact, though he seemed vaguely distracted as he continued to examine the PADD.

"Spock? Seriously – how the _fuck_ do you know that?" Jim was beyond amazement; at this point, he was feeling just a little freaked out.

Spock put the PADD back down on the table, turning his full attention to Jim. "When I was very small, my mother used to read that book to me. My father found it objectionable in every possible way – as I am sure you can imagine – but my mother circumvented his objections by telling him that it provided a useful lesson in xenoanthropology."

Jim made a soft sound of appreciative amusement – not quite a laugh, because it wasn't quite funny. He was trying to imagine a little Spock sitting with his mother – whom he'd seen only in photos and vids that Spock had taken with him before the destruction of Vulcan – a_nd reading Dr. Seuss, for God's sake_.

"Xenoanthropology? How did she get _that_ one by Sarek?" Because Jim, from his limited experience with Spock's father, knew that getting anything at all by him would be a real challenge. Amanda Grayson had, by all accounts, been a hell of a woman; Jim was sorry that he'd never get the chance to meet her.

"She explained to him that the presentation of this story was such that even Terran children found it to be illogical, and that they derived pleasure from the absurd nature of the plot, illustrations, and use of words. The author, as you may know..."

"Used only fifty words in the whole book. Yeah, I know – he did it because another writer bet him he couldn't do an entire story with just fifty words."

Jim felt a sudden, unexpected rush of affection for the little boy who had read an _illogical_ Dr. Seuss book with his human mother – because, all of a sudden, he could envision the scene quite clearly.

He smiled, just a little. "So... did you enjoy the book? And yes – before you cut me off, I know... all these emotions you didn't have, right? Except you were just a little guy... so maybe you did, back then?"

A long pause preceded Spock's reply. "That was part of Sarek's objection, Jim – I actually found the book to be most amusing. Moreover, the notion that even illogical Terran children found this book to be illogical was a source of even more amusement to me. I especially enjoyed the word my mother used to describe the reaction of the children. You may recall, Jim," he said as an aside, "that when my mother lived on Earth, she was a school teacher – so she had shared this book with her students as well."

Spock looked back down at the PADD. "My mother explained to me that Earth children did not typically use the word 'illogical.' She told me that instead, they said it was 'silly.' The sound of that word, Jim, was humorous to me when I was very young."

Jim's smile grew. "It made you laugh, didn't it?" He felt an absurd urge to reach across the table and pull Spock into an enormous bear hug; the thought of his usually solemn First Officer as a laughing little boy just tugged at his heart.

"It did, Jim. And my father disapproved most strenuously – until finally, my mother acquiesced to his wishes, and ceased reading the book to me." He picked up the PADD again, absently touching the screen with the tip of one elegant finger. "I have not seen it in nearly 28 Terran years; seeing it under these circumstances was... surprising, to say the least."

Spock fixed Jim with a curious look. "Was this a book with which you were acquainted as a youngster?"

"Yeah, I thought it was pretty funny back then, too. Some dude who didn't want to eat green food in a box or with a fox? That's good stuff when you're three – it always cracked me up."

Jim looked over at Spock then, his expression suddenly guarded. Quickly, he looked away again. "Not that I read it with my mom – or anyone else, for that matter. _Green Eggs and Ham_ was one of the books I used to teach myself to read – we had a copy laying around in a closet on the farm. Might have been one of my dad's from when he was little – nobody ever told me, one way or the other. But when things would get..."

No. He wasn't going to go into how things would get on the farm, when he was little. Nobody wanted to hear about that shit. "I liked to go off by myself sometimes and read that book. A few others, too – but this was my favorite. I had a little light in that closet, and I'd go in there and read."

There was a long, slightly uncomfortable silence between them. When Jim looked back over at Spock, he saw that Spock had leaned slightly forward, watching Jim with an intensity that was unusual, even for the usually intense half-Vulcan. In a moment of twisted humor, he wondered if Spock was feeling the urge to hug little Jimmy Kirk, who read Dr. Seuss in a closet by himself.

He wasn't jealous of Spock; really, he wasn't. But sometimes, it seemed ironic that Spock, who claimed to have little value for love, had received so much of it in his life – and Kirk, who was all about emotion, affection – hell, any kind of human contact, really – had been given so little. Spock had lost his mother, but had always known with utter certainty that she loved him. Jim's mother was still alive – and had always essentially been a distant acquaintance, who'd had as little to do with Jim as she could reasonably (or legally) manage throughout his life.

Spock's voice made him jump, almost imperceptibly. "Jim, what caused you to be reading _Green Eggs and Ham_ at this point? Does this have anything to do with the idea you had mentioned to me earlier?"

Jim did laugh then, though it was a slightly bitter sound. "Oh, God, no, Spock. I pulled the book out because I wanted to do a parody of it for the ship's literary magazine, and I wanted to see again exactly how it went. I thought I mostly remembered, but you never really know."

"A parody, Jim? Of what nature?" Was Spock as glad as Jim was to get off the topic of their respective childhoods? Probably, Jim decided.

"Well, I decided that Captain Awesome needed to submit something to this next issue – and honestly, I already used my best limericks. So I thought I'd do something to make fun of McCoy – you know, after he'd made fun of me, it only seemed fair." Jim reached over to retrieve the PADD from where Spock had laid it back on the table. "Don't suppose you wanna see it, do you?"

"If you will recall that I am sometimes not as appreciative of the nuances of human humor as you might wish, and therefore may not react as you would expect – then yes, Jim. I would indeed like to see what you have written."

Jim pushed a couple of keys on the PADD to change the screen, and handed it to Spock, who read:

...

That Doc McCoy,

That Doc McCoy –

I do not like

that Doc McCoy.

...

But do you like my hypospray?

Here's one now – what do you say?

I do not like that hypospray.

Take it, make it go away.

...

Would you want one in the neck?

Try it, try it, what the heck.

...

I do not want one in my neck.

You're making me a nervous wreck.

I don't care what you have to say.

I do not want your hypospray.

...

Will you try one in your rear?

There is nothing you should fear.

...

You say there's nothing I should fear?

I wonder if you cannot hear.

I promise you I will not stay

'Til you put down that hypospray.

...

Would you like one here or there?

Or maybe in the Captain's chair?

...

It will be over very quick.

It keeps you, Jim, from getting sick.

...

I do not want one in my butt.

What are you, some kind of nut?

I do not want one here or there

Especially not in my chair.

I do not care if it is quick.

Why are you being such a dick?

I do not want a hypospray.

Now take the fucking thing away.

...

...

Spock looked up as he finished. "I believe that Dr. McCoy will indeed get the point, Jim. For that matter, I believe that the crew will also see the humor in this piece even if they are unacquainted with the original Dr. Seuss, as it is well-known throughout the ship that you have an extreme aversion to the doctor's hyposprays."

"Well, then that's good." He quirked an eyebrow at Spock. "D'you think it'll be enough to make Bones stop coming after me with those damnable things?"

Spock leaned back in his chair. "Jim, I believe that only McCoy's own death – and possibly not even that – would achieve such a goal. You are, as he likes to say, stuck with him."

Jim laughed at that – a real laugh, this time. "Yeah, I guess I am – that crazy son of a bitch. But other than the damn hypos – and following me around like some kind of psychotic mother hen – he really is a pretty great guy. You'll see, Spock – he grows on you."

Spock looked unimpressed. "So you say, Jim."

Of course, Jim knew that, in their own convoluted fashion, Spock and McCoy had indeed formed a friendship of sorts over the past couple of years. It suited them both, however, to behave as though they could barely tolerate one another – and Jim actually thought it was pretty funny, so he mostly just let them go back and forth at one another.

"But, Spock... believe it or not, I didn't invite you up to talk about Bones, or even Dr. Seuss." God, this was going to be hard.

"I suspected as much, Jim. You mentioned that you had an idea to share with me. Please – proceed."

Jim took a deep breath. "Well, you know how you and I were talking a couple of weeks ago – about, you know, the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation."

Spock tensed slightly. "Yes, Jim – of course I do."

"Well, Spock – after we had our discussion about that, I kept thinking about it." Jim looked up at Spock – and was surprised to see Spock looking as freaked out as Jim felt. "No – not about the discussion. About the simulation. And here's what kept going through my head. The way you wrote the program, it was absolutely unwinnable. The way I rewrote the program, it was totally winnable – but absolutely unreasonable."

He looked down at the forgotten PADD in his hand, clicking random buttons for no purpose. "Now, I still think that it's not right to have something that's absolutely unwinnable – I know you might still disagree, but it's just how I feel. But I also think that going through the simulation using the Jim Kirk method isn't going to give much in the way of sim training to a potential command candidate. So, I was –"

Spock was leaning forward now, brown eyes glowing with barely-suppressed excitement. "You were thinking that perhaps the two of us could combine our expertise and create a new _Kobayashi Maru _simulation – one that is almost, but not entirely, unwinnable."

Jim swallowed, hard – because there was just no fucking _way_ Spock had just said that. "How the hell did you know that?"

Because if there was some way that this Spock was in his brain like the old guy – well, there was some stuff going on in there that Jim would just as soon he not see. Could get pretty embarrassing.

"I did not really know, Jim – I surmised as much, because, frankly, I have been having thoughts along a similar line."

Spock watched Jim closely. "You have proven to me on many occasions in our time together on the_ Enterprise_ that there are situations that might seem hopeless – odds that seem insurmountable – and that these situations can still have positive outcomes. I believe that you were correct, Jim, when you said at one point that our cadets should never be expected to give up hope – and that _facing fear _and _giving up_ were two different things."

Jim was almost speechless with astonishment. "Spock – you think so? You think we can do this? Because I sat down with the subroutines and tried to figure out how to make it work – but it's one hell of an elegant program. You can crash it if you try hard enough – we both know that – but just tweaking it? That's damn near impossible."

"That, Jim, is where my experience will prove useful." Spock looked slightly self-conscious. "Because I, too, have recently tried to make adjustments to the program so that, as I had mentioned before, it might be merely almost unwinnable. I found myself unable to come up with the appropriate contingency actions that a captain might use in order to extricate his ship from danger while also completing the assigned mission."

Jim leaned forward now as well, his position unconsciously mirroring Spock's, his blue eyes electric in the dim light. "You couldn't? What did you try that didn't work?"

Now Spock looked almost embarrassed. "I went back through some of our most difficult missions, determining the reasons why we should not have succeeded – and then looking at the factors that brought about a positive outcome in defiance of unfavorable odds. It seemed that the common factor in defying such adverse circumstances was... was always, in one way or another, traceable back to the actions or decisions of Captain James Tiberius Kirk. At last, Jim, I determined that I could not find a way to effectively write _you_ into a computer simulation."

Jim hoped he wasn't blushing – because it felt like he was.

Spock really thought that? Damn. And he felt about fourteen with those thoughts going through his head – not a good place for a starship captain to be, he decided.

Spock was still speaking. "If you have no objection, we can pull up my records and plans for the simulation here on your computer – and perhaps together we might consider situations that might be suitable simulations for young cadets to attempt, but that would be impossible for all but the very best of them to overcome."

Jim could hardly believe that, after all the nervous moments he'd had about how to ask Spock to collaborate on this project, that here was Spock with the same damn idea. It really was pretty awesome – and amazing.

"When would you like to plan to get started, Spock?" It occurred to Jim that such a project could take months to complete.

Spock looked up in surprise. "I thought I had made myself quite clear, Jim. I think we should begin immediately."

...

* * *

_Dilmn8, kuhekabir - as promised. Jim and Spock, and Jim and Spock, and more Jim and Spock._

_And in answer to the question a number of you have asked - things aren't going to get physical at all between them for quite a while yet. So, just sayin.' Be patient._

_I'll also remind you all how much I enjoy reviews. See the green button? You know what to do..._


	12. In the Middle of the Night, Part 1

_Really sorry for the uncharacteristic – at least for this piece – delay in updating. I've been going through a rather horrific stretch of "OMG, I completely suck" that has kept me from doing any writing at all. _

_And I totally understand if you agree with that assessment of my work – but if you really feel as though you need to tell me that I do indeed suck, please be nice. I've discovered that one bad review can just knock me on my butt, emotionally speaking, for entirely too long. It's a failing of mine, I know.  
_

_This chapter is **all** Hikaru and Pavel – and it's pretty fluffy. I tried to make them stop being mushy, but they refused. _

_This was originally supposed to be the beginning of one chapter, which has turned itself into three of them. We know how that goes, don't we?_

_

* * *

_

**"_You must trust and believe in people or life becomes impossible."_**

**_~Anton Chekhov_**

_

* * *

***  
_

"Computer – current time."

"Current time, 0243 hours."

_Well, shit. _

Quarter to three in the morning, and Hikaru was just now able to think about going to bed. Alpha Shift would start in a little over five hours – and he was starting to rack up quite a few consecutive nights with insufficient sleep.

Problem was, he only had about a month and a half left to get Pavel's birthday present squared away – and even though it was a brilliant idea (or at least he thought so), its execution required lots and lots of legwork not only on his own part, but on the part of many people on Earth. Which wasn't a problem until real-time communications became necessary – and ship time and Moscow time were not, unfortunately, well-coordinated at all. As a result, Hikaru was frequently up in the middle of the night, communicating with various people on-planet.

Hikaru silently blessed Pavel's family for being so eager to help him – and so gleefully willing to keep everything a secret from Pav. Between them and some of Scotty's friends at Starfleet Moscow – as well as the help of the Engineering staff on the _Enterprise_, and even occasionally Spock and Kirk – Hikaru was beginning to think that things might actually fall into place.

They'd be stopping off at Starbase 84 in a couple of weeks – and with luck, part of Pav's present would be waiting there as well. Assuming the damn mail ships were on schedule – which they'd better be.

This was going to be so totally worth it – to be able to surprise Pavel like this – but in the meantime... damn. Hikaru was spending way too much time holed up in a cramped, rarely-used meeting room in Engineering – and he was just flat exhausted.

He made his way wearily down the corridor to the quarters that he and Pavel shared, feeling grateful – not for the first time – that Pav slept like a rock once he'd actually dozed off. Otherwise, these nights – okay, mornings – of coming in at gruesomely late (or early) hours would be hard to explain.

Pushing the entry code into the pad by the door, Hikaru waited as the door whooshed open, walking into the darkened room on silent feet and opening the drawer that held his sleeping clothes as quietly as possible. Throwing a pair of flannel pants and an old t-shirt over one arm, he carefully slid the drawer closed, heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

"Turn the light on if you want."

Hikaru gasped in surprise, spinning around and peering through the murky darkness to look at Pavel, who was sitting up in bed, arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees.

"I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." Standing uncomfortably in the ensuing silence, Hikaru waited for Pavel to say something. The silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the omnipresent hum of the _Enterprise's_ engines.

"Um, Pav? Is everything okay?" He knew Pavel hadn't gone back to sleep; he just wasn't talking. That was unusual, and not in a good way.

Finally, he heard a sigh coming from the direction of the bed, and Pavel's quiet voice. "Hikaru? What's going on? Is there... is there something you need to tell me?"

"Computer – lights to fifteen percent." Not that Hikaru needed a light to imagine the expression on Pav's face; he could hear the uncertainty and unhappiness in his voice.

Hikaru found himself immediately at Pavel's side, needing to hold him close and take that heartbreakingly miserable look off his face. But Pavel put out an arm, keeping him at a distance.

"I mean it, 'Karu. This is the sixth night in the past two weeks that I've gone to bed without you – and you've come in after midnight every single one of those nights. I know you think I'm sleeping and don't realize when you come in – but then you don't ever say anything in the morning about where you've been or what you were doing."

Pavel ran a distracted hand through already disheveled curls. "And I sound like a jealous wife, and... and, shit, 'Karu, I hate that. But this – this isn't like you. You've always told me _everything_, no matter what. I mean, I'm your best friend... aren't I?"

As Pavel spoke, Hikaru was thinking fast. He obviously was going to have to tell Pavel something – and lying was out of the question, for so many reasons. Hopefully, partial truth was going to work here...

"Oh, babe – of _course_ you're my best friend. You're my best... Pav, you're my best _everything_. I told you that you're the love of my life – were you not listening?"

This time, Pavel did not resist as Hikaru gathered him into a fierce embrace – and Hikaru was relieved when Pavel relaxed against him, bringing his own arms up to pull them even closer together. "I'm sorry that I made you doubt me for even a second, love," he said softly next to Pavel's ear.

He burrowed his head into the curve of Pavel's neck and shoulder, taking a deep breath; Pav had a special sweet, warm smell when he'd been sleeping, and Hikaru loved it. "You know I'd never do anything on purpose to hurt you, right?"

Pavel nodded, resting his chin on top of Hikaru's head. "I do know. Really. But you know how everything is worse in the middle of the night – and it's been... well, it's been weird, 'Karu. Especially tonight – because, well... all the people that you're supposed to be working all this _overtime_ with? Well, I saw all of them tonight – Scotty, Kirk, Spock – and _none_ of them was with you. So, I – well, I just didn't know..."

"Pav, I'm sorry – I guess I should have realized that you'd start wondering what was going on sooner rather than later." Hikaru leaned back in Pavel's arms and gave him a quick, soft kiss before smiling at him ruefully. "Occupational hazard of being in love with the smartest human on the ship."

He let Pavel pull him close again so that he could rest his head against Pav's shoulder while slender fingers ran soothingly through thick, dark hair. Hikaru sighed contentedly before continuing; it was so, so good to know that before he'd even had the chance to offer a word of explanation, Pavel obviously trusted him.

Not, of course, that he was going to be willing to do without the explanation. Pavel was wonderfully trusting, but he wasn't stupid.

"So... here's the thing, Pav. You're right – I've been being weird, and keeping awful hours, and I haven't always been with the people you've thought I was with. And I haven't been telling you about it – which I know has to be weirdest of all for you, because like you said, I've always told you everything. But..." Hikaru paused, sighing again. The fingers stroking his hair paused as well.

"...There's a really good reason why I haven't told you, babe." Hikaru felt Pavel's sharp intake of breath against his cheek. "No, no – nothing bad. I've... I've just evidently been doing a fairly shitty job of trying to surprise you with something. I was kind of an idiot to think I'd be able to get by with it."

Pavel gently disengaged himself from their embrace, looking intently into Hikaru's eyes. "Surprise me? Why would you want to surprise me?"

Hikaru looked flustered – rather adorably so, Pavel thought, even through his continued confusion. "Well... it's your birthday coming up, and I... I've been..."

"My _birthday_? But... my birthday isn't for almost another two months, 'Karu! And you've been doing this – this overtime stuff for weeks and weeks already – you mean to tell me that all this time, you've been..."

"Well... yeah. I had a reasonably good idea – or at least I thought so – but it's pretty complicated, and definitely labor-intensive. I really have been getting Scotty's help – and Jim's, and Spock's, and Nyota's, too, for that matter – but most of it I've had to coordinate on my own." He hesitated, brown eyes uncertain as he watched Pavel's reaction. "And... if it's okay with you, I'd rather not say anything more about it – would that be all right?"

Pavel stared back at him, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, before gathering Hikaru into his arms once again. "All of that – all of those hours and hours of work you've been doing, coming in exhausted and never getting enough sleep – you've been doing all of that for _me_? Oh, 'Karu..."

His voice cracked as he buried his face in Hikaru's hair – he really, really loved Hikaru's hair. "Don't you know that you never have to do anything like – well, whatever it is you're doing – for me? I don't want you to wear yourself out and work yourself to death – I don't need it. All I need –" he squeezed Hikaru tighter – "is right here. You know that, don't you?"

"I do, Pav," Hikaru replied, his voice somewhat muffled against Pavel's chest. "I know you don't need it, and you sure as hell would never expect it – but that's part of the reason why I wanted to do it for you. And... well, there's a lot more to it that makes it all really important to me – but I can't tell you, not now. You'll understand, I hope, when I'm able to give it to you. I want to do this for you – it means more to me than I can explain. I know you don't understand, but..."

"Yeah, 'Karu... I really do understand, I think." Hikaru could hear the smile in Pavel's voice – and smiled himself as Pav's fingers made their way into his hair again. "I don't know what you've got going on, but I know that whatever it is, you're doing it because you love me. I wish you weren't having to do so much hard work – but I know that whatever you're doing, it must be amazing. I know I'm going to love it." He leaned down to drop a kiss onto the top of Hikaru's head. "I love it already."

Hikaru's only answer was a contented sigh as he burrowed his head more securely into Pav's shoulder. God, but he was exhausted. And it was such a relief to have told Pavel even a little bit about what was going on, because knowing he'd been lying to Pavel – even if it was really only concealing the truth, and even if it was all for Pavel's benefit – had been making him pretty miserable.

Now... this was much better, especially since Pav didn't sound as though he was going to ask for any more of an explanation. And he was going to keep playing with Hikaru's hair like that... which felt _so_ good...

Pavel smiled to himself as he felt Hikaru gradually getting heavier against him; _better wake him up while I still can_, he thought. He shook Hikaru's shoulder gently.

"Up, you – go get changed, and come to bed. Can't have you passing out for the night in your uniform."

Hikaru mumbled something incoherent into the crook of Pavel's neck, nestling in closer again.

Pavel shook him once more. "No, no, no, 'Karu. You get up. Get changed. Then you come to bed. _Da_?"

A heartfelt groan told him that this time, Hikaru had indeed woken up – at least a little – and Pavel shifted slightly in the bed so that he could help Hikaru stagger to his feet and retrieve his forgotten sleeping clothes. He had to laugh at Hikaru's indignant grumbling that served as a running commentary while he changed clothes.

"Your own damn fault. You're the one who's over there smelling all good and being all warm and comfortable and doing that... that thing you do with my hair. You know it always puts me to sleep..."

"Sure, 'Karu. Blame it on me. Now be quiet, and get back in here. It's late – we both need our sleep."

That groan came again, louder now. "Oh, fuck, Pav – that's right. Alpha Shift starts in – oh, shit – four and a half hours?"

Pavel laughed again. "It does, 'Karu – but it's Tuesday, remember? We're not on duty." He moved to lie down in bed, pulling down the covers and patting the spot next to him. "So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to sleep for as long as you need to, and then you're going to wake up all nice and refreshed in the morning – and you're going to forget about my fucking birthday present for just one day, and spend some time with me, because I miss you."

Hikaru had wandered into the bathroom to brush his teeth and finish getting ready for bed. "Tuesday – that's right," he noted.

Or at least Pavel was pretty sure that had been Hikaru's reply, as he still had his toothbrush in his mouth.

"Wow, Pav – I forgot what day it was. That can't be good."

Hikaru had put away his toothbrush and was heading back into their room, picking up the clothes that he'd left scattered on the floor. It always drove Hikaru nuts when things were out of place – which usually meant that he ended up picking up after Pavel, as well. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind much.

"If this was Monday, then you had movie night, right? What did you guys watch?" Hikaru enjoyed "McCoy's Moldy Movie Mondays" every bit as much as Pavel – and he was really starting to miss being able to take part in them. Unfortunately for him, those nights were also golden opportunities for him to get some of his clandestine work done without Pavel noticing, or particularly missing him.

"We didn't have it tonight. McCoy canceled at the last minute – he said there was something going on in Sickbay." Pavel moved over to make room for Hikaru as he climbed into bed next to him, sighing contentedly as Hikaru tucked himself neatly against Pavel's side, the dark head resting on his shoulder.

"It was weird, though – I ran into Christine & Chryssie after that in the Officer's Mess, and neither of them had any idea what I was talking about. He said he told them he'd made other plans, and left it at that. So I don't know what's going on with that."

"That _is_ weird. Not like McCoy to make shit up, either. Were you able to ask Nyota what was going on?"

"I didn't see her all night, 'Karu." Pavel suddenly sounded a lot more interested. "Hey - do you suppose _she_ was his 'other plans?' 'Cause that would be great."

"It would - but there's one problem there. Because I _did_ see her tonight – she was down in Engineering for a while, helping me with... the you-know-what. It didn't occur to me that she was supposed to be with you guys instead – like I said, I forgot it was Monday."

"Well, so much for my big idea of those two finally figuring it out. But... did you see Spock or Kirk tonight? Because after dinner, I didn't see them at all..."

"Pavel. Are you starting in on your matchmaking kick for those two _again_?" Hikaru's voice was sleepy, but amused. "What have I told you about that?"

"That it's useless. I know. Just like it was useless when people did it to us – shit, we never even noticed. But, really, 'Karu – like I said, once dinner was over, I didn't see either of them at all tonight."

"That's because they've started in on some big new secret project that has them holed up in either Spock's quarters or Jim's – spouting computer code at each other like it's some sort of new language. I'm not asking –" Hikaru lifted his head to brush a light kiss on Pavel's jawline – "and neither are you. We're staying out of it, do you hear me?"

Pavel laughed quietly, leaning down to kiss Hikaru's forehead in return. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant Commander Sulu, sir. I will mind my own business."

"Sure you will. Computer, lights to five percent." As the room went nearly dark again, they listened to the sound of one another's quiet breathing.

"Pav?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Thanks for being so understanding – and for trusting me, even when I was being weird."

Hikaru felt Pavel drop a soft kiss into his hair. "I'll always trust you," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he spoke against the top of Hikaru's head. "You never give me any reason not to."

Hikaru snuggled in tighter, nearly overwhelmed by the rush of possessive warmth that flooded through him. "Love you, Pav."

"You too, 'Karu." A brief pause. "You know, though... I _have_ been awfully understanding, don't you think?"

Pavel could feel Hikaru smile against his chest. "Yes, you have. And I think I know where this is heading, don't I?"

"That all depends on where you think it's heading." Pavel sounded amused, as well.

He got a warm chuckle in reply. "I think, Pavel, that tomorrow morning, when we're both functional again, I'll be... let's say, _thanking_ you for being so... _reasonable_ about this whole situation." Hikaru placed a soft, warm kiss against Pavel's throat – innocent enough, but with a wealth of promise for things yet to come.

"You've got it, 'Karu."

"Go to sleep, Pasha."

* * *

_**REALLY FREAKIN' LONG A/N – feel free to ignore!**_

_First – I hope you know that I love to hear from you all, and that I'd love to know what you think of this chapter. (Note: see, "be nice," above.) _

_But amusingly – sort of – I've had messages now from proponents of all three of the major pairings mentioned in "Sestina" that I don't have enough of (fill in the blank with your favorite ship) in this story._

_I don't want to rain on anybody's parade, but there really is NOT a "main pairing" in this piece. **There are THREE of them** – and I tried to make it very clear in the story synopsis that it is an ENSEMBLE piece. _

_So, yeah... ensemble piece. That means that you'll read about Kirk/Spock, Bones/Uhura, Chekov/Sulu – and a lot more about interactions and friendships that connect all six of these individuals with one another. (Heck, there'll eventually be **entire chapters** that are only Spock and Bones. And Pavel and Nyota. Really.)_

_And yes, I really do** know** it's listed as "Kirk/Spock." That is because Jim will end up being the central catalyst for most of the real action that occurs in this story – and since he's so important, his relationship got top billing in the really annoying system that only lets you put in two characters. _

_I know that's going to be disappointing to some of you, and I totally understand if the lack of total emphasis on K/S makes you want to bail on the story. But I just needed to make it clear to everybody right now, relatively early on, that this isn't going to be about just one relationship – **not ever** – so that nobody gets upset with me as this piece moves forward._

_Yes? Kthx._


	13. In the Middle of the Night, Part 2

**A/N:**_ I am so, **so **sorry for the long break between updates; Real Life has been an absolute bitch. In a few weeks, once school lets out, things ought to be somewhat better. Hopefully the fact that this is the longest chapter in this piece to date makes up for it. And I hope that some of you were at least somewhat appeased by my Chulu porn from a couple weeks ago. :-)_

_I have to send out much love to my dearest T'Key'la, who always makes sure I have a bungee cord when I'm out on the ledge – and a big hug to Anbessette, who was not nagging for an update, but got one, all the same._

~000~

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**Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go.**

**~e.e. cummings**

~000~

* * *

"Well, shit, Spock – I don't think that's going to work, either."

"As much as I regret it, Jim, I must agree with you; this is yet another scenario that seems to be implausible."

"Implausible, impossible, unworkable, unfeasible – how many of those adjectives are we going to go through, Spock, before we finally figure something out?"

"I will admit to being somewhat surprised at the difficulty we seem to be having in achieving our goal of creating a simulation that is only _almost_ unwinnable. Of course, upon further reflection, I realize that it is to be expected that such an endeavor would be highly challenging by its very nature."

"But I'm guessing you were like me, Spock – you were probably thinking about how once you and I put our heads together, we're usually unstoppable." Jim smiled up at Spock from his computer console with a warmth in his blue eyes that made Spock's breath catch in a way that was completely unexpected.

Turning his attention back to the monitor, Jim went on, "But you're right – I guess I thought somehow that _you _couldn't do it, and _I _couldn't do it, but somehow _we_ would be able to get it done together with no trouble at all."

He sighed gustily. "And I think that's the damn problem, Spock – we keep trying to insert one of 'Jim and Spock's Fabulous Adventures' into the _Kobayashi Maru _simulation, and it won't work, because the only reason some of this random shit worked for us to begin with is because we're... well... how we are."

Jim got a raised eyebrow in reply. "How we _are_, Jim?" Spock's deep brown eyes – how anyone could think they were expressionless, Jim could never understand – reflected his confusion. "I am not certain that I grasp your meaning."

"I am not certain that I grasp your meaning." Jim mimicked Spock's tone – though he did so with a smile that Spock recognized as part of Jim's good-natured teasing. "Of course you 'grasp my meaning,' Spock – you always do. That's just it."

Jim pushed himself restlessly away from his desk, rising out of his chair and prowling the room with a barely-contained energy. Spock recognized the action from having seen in many times on the bridge of the_ Enterprise_ – or during a crisis in Engineering, or in the middle of an away mission that was going poorly. Jim would get frustrated, and then he would become what Dr. McCoy described as "antsy" – a word that Spock had never previously encountered, but which seemed to be a fitting description for Jim's demeanor.

Now, the exceptionally _antsy_ captain of the Enterprise stopped in the midst of his pacing, whirling on Spock with an almost accusatory expression.

"Dammit, Spock – what are we missing? There's got to be some way that we can fix this simulation so it's not just about me, or about you, or about us – there's got to be something we can go back to that somebody besides us could have pulled off, somehow."

Jim reached up and ran his hand roughly through his hair, leaving it sticking out at odd angles. "Seriously – there's got to be something that we're not taking into account – and it's bound to be fucking obvious, but we just aren't seeing it!" He brought his fist down onto the table for emphasis. "What the hell are we missing?"

Spock, fortunately, recognized Jim's outburst as the expression of frustration that it was, rather than an actual request for information, and remained silent as a result. Because obviously, if he had the answer to Jim's question, then they would not be experiencing their current difficulties.

After a few more moments of wandering aimlessly around his quarters, Jim dropped back into his chair with a sigh of disgust. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled wryly over at Spock.

"I guess if you want to look on the bright side, it's kind of awesome that this is the first time we've ever _not_ been able to pull some sort of amazing solution to a problem out of our asses. And after all, it's not like our lives are on the line here – or even anything all that important, really. It's just a simulation – and nobody but us even knows we're even working on it, so it's not like anybody's expecting anything from us."

The smile faded. "It's just..."

Spock looked up from his monitor to meet Jim's eyes. "It is just that... I believe, Jim, that in some fashion, it _is _important to you. As you say, this situation does not have an impact on the welfare of the crew or the ship, nor does Starfleet have any knowledge of our efforts – much less any expectations for our success."

He returned his attention to the screen in front of him. "However, I know that the idea of improving upon the _Kobayashi Maru _simulation so that it would avoid the 'no-win' characterization – in which you purport not to believe – is one that is of a high priority to you personally. It is logical that you would feel disappointment in our inability to create another simulation that meets our stated standards."

"It's important to _me_, Spock? _I'm_ disappointed?" Jim looked pointedly toward Spock's computer. "Which is why you're telling me all of this while staring very hard... at a _blank screen_?" Jim's laughed softly, a somewhat humorless sound. "I'm calling bullshit on you, Spock."

"Clarify, please, Captain."

_Definitely bullshit, then,_ Jim mused. _I'm only "Captain" when we're on duty – or when he's trying to keep me at a distance. _He situated himself so that he could see Spock's face before replying.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, _Commander_ – but I'll play along, here. I'm saying that this is important to you, too. I'm not exactly sure why, frankly – but it's been clear to me from the beginning that creating this new simulation has been of a _high priority to you, personally_, just as much as it has been for me. And constantly running into dead ends – well, it's frustrating. Disappointing, and frustrating."

"Disappointment and frustration are human emotions, Captain." Spock had not looked up from his monitor – though he had very quickly made sure that the screen was no longer empty. He found that he had become most uncomfortable with the turn this conversation had taken, and began to wonder how quickly he could make a reasonable excuse for leaving Jim's quarters.

Because – as usual – Jim was right. The success of the simulation had indeed taken on a disproportionate importance in his daily priorities, and he himself had not been entirely certain as to the reason for this.

Certainty had come in a flash of awareness as Jim spoke, and he realized – it was important to Spock because it was important to Jim. Somehow, if they could find a way to "fix" the _Kobayashi Maru_, it might make up for...

… For having misjudged Jim, having misunderstood him, having failed to see past the cocky surface to the man beneath. Guilt – like disappointment and frustration – was a human emotion, and Spock had never been able to relinquish his guilt, much to his own surprise.

After all, Jim had obviously forgiven him – they had come to a most satisfactory understanding after the long and rather intense discussion they'd had a few weeks previously – but Spock had not yet been able to forgive himself.

And so, the idea of this new simulation – especially since, by unaccountable coincidence, he and Jim had thought of it independently at the same time – had grown in significance for him.

It was illogical. Even though he understood it perfectly. And he did not wish to devote further thought – much less further conversation – to the topic.

Jim, however, obviously had other ideas. Rising from his chair again, he moved to stand behind Spock's seat in front of the computer. "Disappointment and frustration are human emotions, Captain."

Did Jim know how much Spock hated it when he uttered his own words back to him in reply?

"And you're half human, Spock – so does that mean you get to be _halfway_ disappointed and frustrated? Because if you want to tell me you're not feeling those things, I'll tell you straight up that I don't believe you. And don't give me the 'Vulcans don't lie' crap, either – we both know that's a crock. You're giving yourself away tonight, Spock – and that's not like you."

Jim looked at Spock – too appraisingly, and for too long. "You know Bones won't let you within 50 meters of our poker games, because you've got the best poker face of anybody in history. But tonight, you're not bluffing worth shit – you're not even _trying_. This is getting to you every bit as badly as it's getting to me."

That _look_ again – as though Jim were somehow as much of a telepath as Spock tonight, and those vividly blue eyes were seeing his thoughts. "Why is that, Spock?"

Jim's Starfleet records – all of which Spock had checked most meticulously early on in their mission – indicated that Jim was psi-null, with no telepathic capability whatsoever. Jim himself readily admitted to this. There was no reasonable way for Jim to know Spock's thoughts at this moment.

Except that suddenly, it became clear to both of them that somehow, he did. Jim dropped into a crouch so that he was at eye level with Spock – who determinedly avoided that suddenly seeking gaze.

"Spock." Jim's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Spock. Look at me."

And Spock found himself to be alarmingly powerless against that tone of voice – gentle, concerned – and lifted his eyes to meet Jim's. He saw that same concern reflected there as well, and it was almost more than he could process.

"Spock. Dammit. You've got to stop it, Spock – stop beating yourself up. It's past. It's _over._ You apologized – it wasn't necessary, but you did – and you know I forgave you for whatever you think you did."

Those eyes, the expression on Jim's face – it was all too intense for him at that moment, and Spock had to close his own eyes, if only to afford himself some sort of temporary escape.

Jim's voice was quiet, insistent. "Yeah, we both want this whole simulation thing to work out. But... shit, Spock. When it comes right down to it, I think we're both using it to make up for something bigger – me, I'm still probably trying to fix the _Kelvin _somewhere in the back of my mind, and you – unless I miss my guess, you're trying to undo the shit that went down between us over the _Kobayashi Maru_ back at the Academy." He paused, sighed. "Is that about right?"

Spock found that he could only nod – and that he was still more comfortable with his eyes closed, so that he did not have to see Jim's face. What was it about Jim that brought all of his emotions so close to the surface? At times like this, that became most... inconvenient.

"Here's the thing, though, Spock – and I'm just now figuring it out, seriously. I mean, like, right now. It doesn't matter. _It doesn't matter._ The _Kelvin _blew up. My dad died. I can't undo that – no one can. And as for you? Well, hell, Spock. You've been kicking yourself because you didn't understand me, or something like that. Yes?"

He nodded again, the motion barely perceptible.

"Then, Spock – here's what you need to know. But first... well, dammit, you've got to look at me."

Reluctantly, Spock opened his eyes; Jim's expression was unchanged, but he had moved farther away – possibly in deference to Spock's visible discomfort.

"If you're feeling guilty – or whatever – because you misunderstood me years ago when we'd barely even met, then know this: That doesn't matter, either. Not anymore. For better or worse, it's over, and you can't undo it any more than I can make Nero un-destroy the _Kelvin_. Besides, Spock, it's totally different now – you know it is. You _get_ me – I mean, really understand what's going on in my head – in ways that nobody else does, or ever will, I imagine. You know some aspects of me better than Bones, even – and it means the world to me, Spock. It really does. Without you as my First – or as my friend – my life would be a lot more difficult. And a lot less pleasant." Jim paused for a moment. "You have to have already known that on some level, right?"

Jim waited – wondering if he'd said too much. Spock hadn't lost that freaked-out expression once in the past five minutes, which told Jim right there that his shot-in-the-dark hypothesis about why Spock cared about the simulation had been 100% correct. Spock hated to be called on having emotions – _hated_ it – but this time, Jim had felt compelled to do so. To prove to Spock that the business of understanding each other... well, it went both ways.

Meanwhile, Spock had not responded for a long moment – then he seemed to mentally shake himself.

"Yes, Jim – you are correct. I have indeed known that there are times when only I can accurately predict what you will do in response to a given stimulus; McCoy, as well, has pointed this out to me. I also realize that we have... other areas of commonality... that have helped both of us to understand one another to a greater extent than is typical between two individuals." He seemed to relax almost imperceptibly. "And if my friendship is useful to you, that is... gratifying to me, Jim."

Jim felt his own tension begin to let up, as well. "So," he said, moving to stand up again, "maybe if we just lighten up a little bit, the answer will come to us." He walked over to his sofa, dropping onto it with a sigh. These "drag-the-emotion-out-of-Spock" conversations were _exhausting_.

But worth it. He smiled over at his First, who had again begun poring over data – though this time, he seemed somehow less intense, and more at ease. Not for the first time, Jim felt an indescribable little rush at the realization that he was one of a very few people who could actually pick up on the nuances of Spock's feelings; seriously, on the ship, it was probably only himself and Nyota – and, very rarely, Bones as well – and that was awesome.

_Why's that so important to you, Jimmy-boy?_

And dammit, there was the voice in his head that sounded like Bones. Bones, who had started dropping not-so-subtle hints in Jim's direction that maybe – just maybe – he needed to examine his _friendship_ with "the green-blooded hobgoblin." Asking him pointed questions that told him Bones was pretty sure that there was... well, more than friendship that Jim felt for Spock.

Jim ignored Bones when he went off on one of those little tangents – and he was going to ignore that niggling little voice in his head, as well. Even if maybe he _did_ have feelings other than friendship for Spock – which, by the way, he did _not_ – it wouldn't matter. Spock would never return such feelings. So it didn't matter. And no matter how Jim felt – well, Spock wasn't the only one with a good poker face. Jim could damn well bluff as well as anybody. Better, in fact.

Suddenly, he sat straight up on the sofa. That was _it_.

"Bluffing," he said into the silence.

Instead of looking confused – as might have been expected, really – Spock spun to face his captain, his face alight with excitement.

"Poker," he rejoined.

As though they'd choreographed it, both men shot up, standing to face one another.

"Corbomite," they said with one voice.

~000~

Anyone who had been able to listen in on the discourse between Captain James Tiberius Kirk and Commander S'chn T'gai Spock for the several hours that followed might well have been excused for thinking that the Captain and his First were communicating in a heretofore unknown language. The exchange between them was not so much a conversation as a series of unfinished sentences, or even single words – but they seemed to understand one another perfectly.

"If we change this to..."

"It seems then that this alternative..."

"You're absolutely right. We could..."

"And then it would be up to the discretion of the individual..."

"Because then there'd be any number of opportunities for..."

"Though of course you realize, Jim, that you are still likely setting them up for certain..."

"Well, sure – but it's not _supposed_ to be..."

"Indeed."

…

…

The incident that had inspired the Captain and his First to such sudden creativity had happened early in their five-year mission, in an area never previously explored by the Federation; the _Enterprise_ had suddenly encountered a cube of unknown origin that was hurtling rather alarmingly toward them on a light-speed collision course.

Once the cube – which Spock rightly surmised to be some sort of buoy or marker – had started sending out increasing levels of radiation that would rapidly prove fatal to the crew, Captain Kirk had seen no alternative but to destroy it. Not that he was into blowing things up for fun – well, okay, he _was _– but not when they belonged to somebody he didn't know.

Unfortunately for them, the captain of the ship which had sent the buoy to begin with didn't take kindly to having had it blown up. Honestly, though – such an enormous entity (seriously, it was over a mile across, and who even _made_ anything that big?) could hardly be referred to as a mere ship. It was seriously _huge_. And not exactly the welcoming committee. The captain of the alien vessel – the _Fesarius_ – promptly told the crew of the _Enterprise_, "You have been examined. Your ship must be destroyed."

Of course, none of them were particularly pleased by that statement – nor did it make anyone feel one bit better when the disembodied voice of the captain (whose name, he told them, was Balok) told them, "We make assumption you have a deity, or deities, or some such beliefs which comfort you. We therefore grant you ten Earth time periods known as minutes to make preparations."

Lovely.

And so the countdown was on. Spock, for once, was unable to come up with a logical solution to their problem. Lieutenant Bailey – who really wasn't cut out for working on the bridge, as it turned out – totally lost it and started screaming at Kirk until the captain relieved him of duty and basically sent him to his room. To top it all off, the crew learned for the first time of what Scotty referred to as Sulu's "annoying fascination with timepieces."

("Seriously, Hikaru," Pavel had said later, "none of us really needed the minute-by-minute countdown to when we were all going to be _blown to pieces_.")

Finally, it had been up to Jim to find a solution – which was so far from logical that it sent Spock's mind reeling. The captain had Lieutenant Uhura reestablish communication with the _Fesarius_.

Leaning back in his chair with every bit of his "I'm James Fucking Tiberius Kirk, and _now_ you deal with _me_" bravado, he said, "This is the captain of the _Enterprise_. Our respect for other lifeforms requires that we give you this warning. One critical item of information that has never been incorporated into the memory banks of any Earth ship. Since the early years of space exploration, Earth vessels have had incorporated into them a substance known as…"

He stopped – and only Bones realized at that moment that he was _totally pulling something right out of his ass_ – "Corbomite. It is a material and a device which prevents attack on us. Any destructive energy touches our vessel there is a reverse reaction of equal strength created, destroying-"

"YOU NOW HAVE TWO MINUTES."

"_Destroying_ the attacker! It may interest you to know that, since the initial use of Corbomite more than two of our centuries ago, no attacking vessel has survived the attempt." Jim had allowed an edge of contempt to creep into his voice. "Death has little meaning to us. If it has none to you, then attack us now. We grow annoyed at your foolishness."

If there had somehow still been anyone left on the _Enterprise's_ crew who was not in awe of Captain Kirk's complete and utter awesomeness – well, there wasn't after that little display of flat-out ballsiness. Even Spock was pretty much blown away.

Not that he'd ever, _ever_ have said so at the time.

And – long story short – Balok had bought it. And didn't blow them up. Turned out, after all was said and done, that Balok wasn't the terrifying-looking alien that had originally shown up on their view screen – that had been a fake, designed to frighten them. Honestly, he wasn't really a bad guy at all, for all that he looked like a ten-year-old and sounded like somebody's grandma down in Miami who needed to lay off the cigarettes. (To tell the truth, he'd kind of been dressed like someone's grandma in Miami, too – lots of sparkles. It was a little disconcerting.) He was very hospitable when Kirk, McCoy and Bailey (who'd been "un-grounded" by Jim, but was still pretty annoying) beamed aboard his ship after all the "I'm going to blow you up. No, _I'm_ going to blow _you_ up" excitement had passed. Odd, for sure – but certainly hospitable.

In this "best of both worlds" scenario, Jim's bluff had the end result not only of avoiding the certain destruction of the _Enterprise_, but of ridding them of one of their more irritating crew members. Balok was lonely, and looking for someone with whom to exchange information about their respective cultures. Bailey volunteered to be Balok's exchange student, and stayed behind to learn more about this alien civilization. Crisis averted, problem solved.

...

...

"Most of them probably won't survive the Screen-saver of Death."

"Jim, why do you insist upon calling the warning buoy by that name? Yes, I know that it closely resembled a screen-saving graphic from the late 20th century on Earth – but the vessel itself certainly was neither harmless nor humorous."

"Come on, Spock – not harmless, I'll give you that – but after the fact, it was pretty funny that we were being hunted down by a malicious block, wasn't it?"

Spock did not choose to dignify that with a response.

"But if they survive that..."

"They will be in the position to have to deal with..."

"Do you think they'll..."

"Create a similar..."

"Be able to bullshit like I did?"

"Highly unlikely."

"_How_ highly unlikely, do you think?"

"I would calculate..."

"No – just ballpark."

"Far less than one percent, Jim. Nearly impossible."

"But not entirely."

"No. If there is another..."

"God help Starfleet if there's another _me_ out there."

"On the contrary, Jim. I believe that..."

Jim stopped short. "Believe that what?" That sentence could have been very interesting, Jim suspected – had Spock chosen to finish it.

"My opinion on the subject is... irrelevant to this discussion, I believe." Spock returned his attention to the PADD in his hand – carefully not meeting the captain's eyes.

_So much for that._ Jim didn't really know why he found that so disappointing – it wasn't as though Spock was going to go on and on about how awesome Jim was, and how Starfleet should be glad to have him as a captain.

_But... but he **might** have._

Feeling like a particularly hormonal 14-year-old girl, Kirk determinedly turned his thoughts elsewhere.

Except he didn't.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"Do you think... do you think I..." Well, shit. What was he going to say?

_Do you think I'm a good captain? Did you ever decide that I wasn't as much of a reckless fuck-up as you thought I was back when we ran into the Fesarius to begin with? Do you think you could ever..._

_Shut up, Kirk – you fucking idiot. You can't ask him that crap, because then, what's poor Spock supposed to say to you? You'd paint him right into a corner – and he's already uncomfortable enough._

"Do I think you... what, Jim?" Spock had found himself unable to keep his eyes from turning toward Jim when he had heard the tone of uncertainty that had suddenly crept into his voice. James T. Kirk should never sound uncertain; somehow, it was completely wrong.

And now, Jim was not looking at him. Spock was not entirely sure what had transpired to cause Jim to suddenly become quiet and uncomfortable – that, Spock reflected, seemed to be his own specialty, never Jim's – but it was clear that something was troubling his captain. And that without knowing why, he himself had likely brought about that situation.

"Jim?" Spock felt that odd, squeezing feeling in his chest that Jim occasionally provoked in him.

Humans usually alluded to that sensation as feeling their hearts sink – but Spock knew better. As his own heart resided in his right side, he knew that the sensation was nowhere near that organ – but suspected that a sudden spike in the level of stress-induced hormones in his system caused an increase of blood flow to his stomach and esophagus, resulting in the odd pain he felt near where a human's heart would be.

For once, a human inaccuracy made some sort of sense to him.

And still, this particular human had not answered him.

"Never mind, Spock." Then Jim shook his head - a tiny motion, barely perceptible, really – and then sounded like his normal self again.

Almost.

"Do you think we've programmed enough variables into the system to make a decently workable prototype for a simulation, Spock?"

"I do. In fact, I believe that, with a very few technical adjustments, it will be ready for us to send to Starfleet almost immediately to see if they wish to adapt it so that it might be a training tool for their cadets."

"Who, Mr. Spock, will then curse our names ever after." Jim laughed softly. "After all, they _knew _the _Kobayashi Maru _was unbeatable – everybody did. This one – if they don't beat it, they'll have to live with knowing that there _was _a chance, and they_ could _have done it. They just didn't."

"Indeed." Spock did not really know what to say to that. Besides, he was somewhat distracted, as part of him processed the fact that the two of them had returned to completing their own sentences again. The realization that the time tonight that had been filled with nearly electric excitement and... _connectedness_, perhaps... between himself and Jim had slipped away did _not_ leave him feeling somewhat bereft. That, of course, would have been a human emotion.

He did notice it, however. That was not a feeling; it was merely an observation.

Jim was still speaking. "Guess it was a good thing after all that Starfleet decided to seal the file of our interaction with the _Fesarius _– otherwise, everybody would know how we got out of that particular little jam."

"How _you_ got us out of that, more accurately, Jim."

Jim noticed that Spock had started watching him closely, with a look in his dark brown eyes that Jim recognized as... concern. He didn't know what he'd done to cause that – and didn't really want to think about it just now.

Sometimes the thought of having no emotions, ironically enough, appealed to Jim immensely. He was having way the hell too many of them recently, and life would be a lot easier without them.

However, Jim also knew that it wasn't as though _Spock _had no emotions – far from it. He just had managed to get repression down to an art form.

He sighed – and then realized that Spock still expected him to respond. Not that this was logical – after all, he'd made a statement, not asked a question.

"Guess if you say so, Spock. Either way, it won't be easy for our cadets – but they can't give up on it, either. Because they know that there is a way out, if they just think about it. And if they can pull it off in _'ten Earth time periods known as minutes.'_"

Jim smiled at Spock – a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Of course, they won't have the benefit of 'Hikaru Sulu, Human Chronometer' when they do their simulation."

Spock gave Jim a sidelong glance. "On the contrary, Jim. I programmed Sulu in, as well."

Jim let out a sudden bark of laughter. "No shit, Spock?" Spock nodded. "That is fucking hilarious!" This time, the smile was genuine, and the blue eyes glowed. "And you did it on purpose, because you _knew_ I'd think it was funny. You totally know you did."

"I did so merely for purposes of accuracy; I wished to replicate our own situation as accurately as possible." Spock kept his voice level as always – but, of course Jim was right. He admitted to himself that he had been thinking of Jim's reaction when he had put Sulu's accurate, though admittedly unnerving, timekeeping into the simulation.

And at Jim's renewed happiness, Spock felt the squeezing in his chest start to ease.

"But, speaking of chronometers – holy shit. It's 0130, Spock. I've had you working on this for – what --"

"Tonight, it has been 6.542 hours. Our total time expenditure on the project has been –"

"No – don't tell me. I'd probably freak out." Jim stood up from his chair and stretched. "It was a lot of time, I know. But... I'd say it was worth it, wouldn't you?"

Before Spock could answer, Jim's intercom beeped. He leaped up to answer; nobody called at this time of night unless it was important.

"Kirk here."

"Jim – it's Nyota. And no, everything's fine – no alerts or anything like that."

That was certainly a relief; things hadn't been particularly exciting in the mission lately, but sometimes a little boredom was a welcome change.

"Good to hear. What's up?"

"I'm really sorry to call so late – I hope I didn't wake you – but I'm worried about Leonard, and wondered if you knew what might be going on with him." Nyota's voice over the intercom had an undercurrent of urgency.

"Bones? Why? Is he sick? What's going on?" Jim realized, with a sudden sick drop in his stomach, that with all the excitement of working on this simulation with Spock, he really hadn't talked much to Bones in the past few days.

"He's not sick that I know of, Jim – but here's the deal. Tonight was movie night, and he canceled at the last minute – said there was stuff going on in Sickbay. I didn't think anything of that – because of course that happens sometimes – but then Chris Chapel came in here a few minutes ago, and she said there hadn't been anything unusual down there. Len told her that he canceled movie night because something else came up. She thought he was... was going out with me or something, and came by to see how the evening had gone. That's when I found out he hadn't told us the truth."

She paused. "Jim, he doesn't lie. You know he doesn't. And now he won't answer when I call him on his comm, even though I know he's in his quarters. And... I thought maybe you'd be able to tell me what's going on."

Jim's mind had been racing the whole time Nyota had been speaking. She was right; Bones never lied. He just didn't. But tonight...

_Oh, shit._

"Shit, _shit, __**shit**__!_"

"Jim – _what_?" Nyota's voice was insistent.

Jim felt his stomach turn again; he was, without a doubt, the worst friend ever. "Today – well, yesterday, now – was Joanna's birthday. She turned six."

_Damn, damn, damn._

"Her birthday's always tough for him, especially when he can't see her. But – if he ended up canceling everybody's plans at the last minute... well, I can only think that something beyond that must have gone wrong."

_The worst fucking friend ever. _ Bones would never, ever have forgotten an important date of Jim's like that. The thought of him alone in his quarters, missing his baby girl, while Jim had been...

_Damn._

"Thanks, though, Nyota. I'll go down there now and see what's going on with him."

"Wait, Jim." Nyota caught him before he could sign off. "I'll go."

"But, he needs..."

"Jim." Her voice was soft. "I know I'm not his best friend – but I think I can handle this." She paused, briefly. "Let me do this? Please?"

He was torn. On one hand – Jim _was_ his best friend. Best friends do that sort of thing. On the other hand – well, he hadn't been much of a best friend, had he? Bones might be pissed off at him for forgetting Jo-Jo's birthday (not without justification, Jim thought), and it might be better for him to see Nyota tonight than to have to deal with somebody who was making him mad.

_Yeah – who'd fucking **forgotten** about him, and hadn't been there when he needed him. Even though he was supposedly his fucking best friend. Some friend..._

Then, beyond all that, there was the realization that Nyota could give Bones a lot that Jim simply couldn't – and it sounded like she wanted to. He probably ought to give her the chance to try...

"Okay, Nyota. But – when you can, let me know..."

"I will, Jim. Thanks." The intercom clicked off.

Jim scrubbed his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth through his quarters.

"Dammit – I cannot _believe _I was so fucking self-absorbed! God – poor Bones. I don't even want to think about it."

Spock was standing stiffly – even for Spock – and his voice was tight when he responded. "Jim, please permit me to apologize. If it had not been for my insistence upon completing this project, you would not have --"

Jim cut him off abruptly. "No. No fucking way are you going to take the blame for this, Spock. You weren't any more insistent about getting this done than I was. I'll take the blame here for my own shortcomings."

Spock sat slowly back down, gathering some of his equipment from the table where he had been working. He was obviously getting ready to go, Jim realized. "But, Jim – I cannot help thinking that..."

"Spock. No." Jim had walked over to the table, and without thinking (or at least he _thought_ it was without thinking) reached over to grasp Spock's hand in reassurance.

Spock froze – went utterly still – but made no effort to remove Jim's hand from his own. Then Jim, suddenly realizing his mistake as he saw Spock's reaction, quickly jerked his hand away.

"Spock – I'm so sorry." This was not his night in terms of being a particularly good friend, it seemed. "Shit – I forgot about that business with Vulcans and their hands." He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. "So... did I just make out with you or something?"

Spock found his voice again – though Jim noted that he was unusually flushed (though for Spock, that meant his complexion went an interesting shade of green) and his eyes were even darker than usual.

"No, Jim – I assure you that you did not, as you say, 'make out' with me. Although we Vulcans do prefer not to be touched in casual situations, you meant no offense, and I took none."

He had to have made Spock feel terribly uncomfortable, despite his reassurances – he was still breathing a little faster than normal, and looked... discomposed, for lack of a better word. But since Jim didn't really know what else to say, he stayed silent.

Spock remained silent as well, as his mind spun with all the unwelcome – _of course it was unwelcome_ – emotion that had been stirred by Jim's touch.

Jim's emotions were seething – and Spock's touch telepathy could not avoid perceiving them when Jim had clasped his hand. The predominant feeling was that of overwhelming guilt. Guilt and profound remorse over his treatment of McCoy – and more guilt because Spock himself seemed to feel responsibility for the situation, as well.

But... there was even more, and Spock hesitated to give those emotions a name, even in his mind.

They felt like... affection, and longing, and...

Desire?

Impossible.

He had to go. _Now_. To create some sort of distance between himself and Jim before the urge to touch him again – to know Jim's thoughts, and to feel that hand on his again – became more than he could handle. Spock could only hope that his voice sounded reasonably normal when he spoke now.

"Jim, I hope you will excuse me. It is late, and although we are not on duty tomorrow, I have obligations that will require my presence early in the morning." He rose from his spot at the table, gathering his materials and moving toward the door.

"Spock..." Jim trailed off. "Well – thanks. Thanks for all you did to make this simulation work. I think you know it means a lot to me. And as for this other stuff – I know it's not going to matter to you, but it really wasn't your fault at all that I went off the deep end with this project and blew off Bones when he needed me."

Those hands went into his hair again, rubbing furiously until it stood out in a messy, dark golden halo of sorts around his head. "As to the, well, touching thing a minute ago – I really am sorry."

"Do not continue to apologize, Jim – please. As I said, I have taken no offense. And as you would say, I will not lose any sleep over it." He nodded once before opening the door and stepping out into the corridor. "Good night, Jim. Rest well."

Hours later, after a lengthy period of futile attempts at meditation, Spock thought of what he had said to Jim. _I will not lose any sleep over it._

And, despite Jim's assertions to the contrary, Vulcans did not lie.

They were, however, occasionally mistaken.

* * *

**And you know what I'm going to ask already, don't you? And here you're not even touch telepaths.**

**But you are going to review -- right?**


	14. In the Middle of the Night, Part 3

**_A/N: _**_For those of you who are all about the Kirk/Spock, I must beg your indulgence for a couple of chapters._

_For those of you who are all about the McCoy/Uhura – here you go. :-)_

_And to my anonymous reviewers – thanks so much for taking the time to let me know what you think of the story. Please know that I'd respond to you if I could. Genclay, you get a hug all of your own. :-)_

_But this nonsense isn't what you want to read, is it?_

_I thought not.  
_

_...  
_

_

* * *

_

**The father of a daughter is nothing but a high-class hostage.**

**~Garrison Keillor**

**

* * *

**...**  
**

"You mean, he wasn't with you?" Christine had sounded genuinely shocked. "But, Ny... when Leonard said something had come up to cancel movie night, I just naturally figured it had been something with you."

"No, Chris – not me. He told me... he said something had come up in Sickbay."

And Christine's face had reflected the worry that was tightening Nyota's throat. "He... Leonard _lied?_ To _both_ of us? Oh, Nyota... something's gotta be going on, I just know it – but, how are we going to...?"

"I'm going to call Jim; he'll know."

"But, Ny – it's after midnight. Don't you think–"

"I think if anyone can tell us what's going on with Leonard McCoy, it's Jim Kirk. And if it's important – and I'm afraid it is, Chris – then Jim isn't going to care if I wake him up."

Moreover, if Nyota's suspicions were correct, she wasn't going to be waking him up, anyway – though she wasn't going to share that theory with Christine.

She knew that Jim and Spock thought they were being very circumspect about their collaboration on whatever semi-secret project they'd developed – but she'd certainly noticed. The two of them had rarely been out of one another's company this past week or so, and were nearly always in the middle of intense (and nearly incomprehensible) conversation about... something they weren't mentioning to anyone else.

And... was she the only one who saw the way the two of them _looked _at one another? Well, of course she knew she wasn't – Pavel had been on and on about it for ages, and had begun making noises about locking the Captain and his First into a supply closet until they admitted that what they felt for one another was more than simply friendship. Hikaru had firmly put the kibosh on that whole idea, thank goodness.

Jim and Spock were two of the most brilliant men Nyota had ever met – so how they could be so obtuse about something that was so obvious to those closest to them was a little bewildering.

But that was the least of her concerns tonight; something was the matter with Len, and she needed to get to the bottom of it. So she'd commed Jim – who, as she'd suspected, hadn't been asleep after all – and explained the situation.

"Jim, he doesn't lie. You know he doesn't. And now he won't answer when I call him on his comm, even though I know he's in his quarters. And... I thought maybe you'd be able to tell me what's going on."

There had been the briefest of pauses before she heard Jim exclaim,

"Shit, _shit, __**shit**__!"_

"Jim – _what_?" She couldn't see Jim's face, but the sound of his voice warned her that whatever he'd realized, it wasn't good.

"Today – well, yesterday, now – was Joanna's birthday. She turned six." Jim sighed gustily. "Her birthday's always tough for him, especially when he can't see her. But – if he ended up canceling everybody's plans at the last minute... well, I can only think that something beyond that must have gone wrong."

Another silence, another sigh. "Thanks, though, Nyota. I'll go down there now and see what's going on with him."

"Wait, Jim." Nyota caught him before he could sign off. "I'll go."

"But, he needs..."

"Jim." How could she explain this? She probably couldn't – but she'd have to trust Jim to understand.

"I know I'm not his best friend – but I think I can handle this." She paused, briefly. "Let me do this? Please?"

Silence for a moment, and she knew Jim was struggling with the idea.

"...Okay, Nyota. But – when you can, let me know..."

Jim sounded resigned – and more than a little disgusted with himself. This was going to be nearly as tough for him as it was for Len, she suspected – he was obviously feeling guilty as hell for not having been there when his best friend had needed him – but that wasn't her concern tonight.

"I will, Jim. Thanks." The intercom clicked off, and she was out of her own quarters, heading for Len's, before she could give it another thought – leaving Christine still perched on Nyota's bed, staring after her in wordless amazement.

She'd only made it about halfway down the corridor toward the lift when she ran into Scotty – though what he was doing out and about at such an hour was anybody's guess. Not that she really cared just now.

He, however, seemed more than a bit curious to be running into her. "Lass, you're out wanderin' late. Is somethin' the matter?"

Not until she noticed his appraising gaze sweep quickly over her did Nyota stop to consider her somewhat... unusual attire. She'd bolted out of her quarters in flannel boxers, an ancient, oversized t-shirt that she'd stolen from Hikaru ages ago, and fluffy purple socks.

No use trying to keep a secret from Scotty, she realized – he was as smart as anyone on the ship, and had a love of gossip and intrigue to rival even Pavel's.

Moreover, he was nearly as close to Len as Jim was – the two men having discovered their shared love of well-distilled spirits early on, and having become unlikely friends during the course of many late-night discussions over a particularly good scotch – or bourbon, or Saurian brandy, or... whatever.

"It's Len, Scotty – seems that today was Joanna's birthday, and something went down so that he's basically shut himself into his quarters and won't talk to anybody. I don't know how much good I'm going to do, but I'm..."

She trailed off uncertainly; hell, what good _was _she going to do? She really had no idea whether he'd even want to see her.

Maybe she should have let Jim go after all...

But Scotty, picking up on her sudden hesitancy, was quick to reassure her. "Nyota, lass, I'm thinkin' you'll do him the world o' good, truly I do. And you needn't be worryin' about what to say to him, honestly, darlin' – he'll be better just by havin' you there with him."

He patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. "I know him well enough to be sure of it." Then the same hand moved to the small of her back, shoving her gently forward. "'Once more unto the breach', as they say, darlin'."

Nyota smiled at that. "Quoting Shakespeare, Scotty – and at this hour of the night? I didn't know you had it in you." Kissing him on the cheek, she turned to head back toward the lift.

"But yes, 'unto the breach' indeed," she remarked over her shoulder as she walked away. "Wish me luck."

"Luck, indeed," Scotty said to himself as he headed down the corridor in the other direction. "You'll not be needin' much o' that, _mo gràidh_ ..."

…

...

Nyota knew better than to push the call button at McCoy's door; fortunately, though, he'd long since given her the code to let herself in on evenings when she'd had to set up for Movie Night before he was done with his shift. With a deep breath and a quickly whispered prayer, she punched in the code, stepping in as soon as the door slid open.

"Well, you're not the one I expected to see at this hour," a voice said from the near-total darkness. She'd never heard that tone of voice from him before – flat, emotionless, without inflection of any kind. She squinted into the dark room, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face.

"Nyota. You didn't have to come." She saw him now, in silhouette, as he unfolded his long, lean frame from a chair in front of his computer monitor.

"You called everything off tonight – and you didn't tell anyone the truth about why. Then you wouldn't answer your comm." Absently, she reached up to twist a long strand of dark hair that had fallen across her shoulder. "I was worried."

"Well, you see I'm fine – so you don't have to worry." He came closer now – but then walked past her as though she wasn't there, heading straight to his door instead. "So now you can leave. It's late, anyway – you should be in bed."

_Fine. Two can play at that game, Doctor. _

Nyota walked in the opposite direction, plunking herself emphatically down onto the sofa.

"Except I'm here now, and I _won't_ leave. And unless you're going to bodily pick me up and toss me into the corridor, you're going to have to deal with that."

For a long moment, Len looked at her as though he were seriously considering such a course of action. Finally, with a sigh, he let the door whoosh closed, and came back to stand before her. His face was as devoid of emotion as his voice had been a moment ago – until her eyes became more adjusted to the darkness, and she saw that the blank mask was a poor attempt to hide his pain from her.

It was all Nyota could do to keep from going to him and taking him in her arms – but she doubted that such an action would be welcome just now.

"Tell me, Len. What happened with Joanna?"

He started as though she'd slapped him. "What do you know about Joanna?" he growled.

Nyota was taken aback by the suddenly angry tone of his voice, and held up her hands in a gesture of appeasement. "Nothing, Len – only that it was her birthday. I asked Jim, if you're wondering how I knew that. Like I said, I was worried about you. That's all."

"So – Jim actually remembered, did he?" McCoy's tone was derisive. "That's great to hear."

"Len – I know you don't want to hear this right now, but he feels awful." She heard him snort – and she didn't blame him, really. "I had to talk him out of coming down here himself."

He'd wandered back over to the desk where his computer monitor glowed faintly – providing the only light in the room – and lowered himself slowly back into the chair. His voice had lost its tone of sarcasm – he was just quiet.

Too quiet – she could barely hear him, even though there was no other sound in the room. "Why'd you do that, Nyota? What made you come down here instead?"

She rose from her perch on the sofa, moving to stand behind him. "Honestly, Len? Until I got down here, I wasn't really sure why it was so important to me to be the one to come and check on you." She put her hands on his shoulders; he stiffened, but didn't shake her hands away.

"But... I get it... now. Yes, I was worried. Then, when I talked to Jim – and I knew that you were going through... I didn't know exactly _what_... but you were going through it alone – I couldn't stand it, Len."

He started to answer her – but she pressed firmly down on his shoulders as if to stop his words, and went on.

"I realized that... dammit, Len, I don't want you going through things alone. Not anything – not ever. And if something's happened to hurt you..." She took a deep breath. "Well, I don't want it to be Jim Kirk who makes it better. I want it to be me."

For once, she took his silence as encouragement – if he'd thought she was full of shit, he'd have said so right then and there.

"So, I guess it's selfishness on my part, Len – that's what made me come down here." Nyota leaned down then, placing her forehead into the thick softness of his dark hair – her own hair falling around them both like a silken black curtain. "Does that answer your question?"

He said nothing at all for a long time – for so long that she wondered if he ever intended to talk to her at all. Then he reached up and took one of her hands as it lay on his shoulder.

"It wasn't that big of a deal – it honestly wasn't. I mean – she's six. She hasn't seen me for more than a week at a time since before she was old enough to walk. Hell, I'm not real to her; I'm not really her Daddy. I'm just some fella who shows up on her vid screen sometimes, and who sends presents at Christmas and her birthday. And that's my own doing; I know that. Jo-Jo's in Louisiana, and I'm in – well, whatever the hell part of space this tin can happens to be flying through at any given moment."

He moved his hand from hers to rub it wearily over his face, his voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. "She's six. She doesn't know."

Nyota realized that she needed to be quiet now, and let Len say – well, whatever he needed to say. After all, she'd come down here to be there for him – she didn't necessarily need to know what had happened earlier to upset him so badly.

Not that she didn't really, really _want _to know...

Without comment, Len reached to click a button on his console that started a video playing. It was clear almost immediately that he was replaying his conversation with Joanna earlier in the day.

He spoke first. "Hi there, Princess – happy birthday!"

_God – the __**love**__ in his voice._ Nyota felt her throat getting tight. _No. You're __**not **__going to cry, girl._

"Hey, Daddy!" A little voice piped up then, and Nyota looked up again to see –

_Good Lord. If Len had been born a girl..._

She hadn't seen any photos of Jo-Jo since she was a toddler, but... wow. There was Len's thick, dark hair, those huge hazel eyes... and the brilliant, heart-stopping smile that didn't show up nearly often enough on this beautiful little girl's father.

Yes, there were a few differences – Joanna had a little dimple in her cheek like her mother's, and she definitely had the delicate bone structure and petite frame that she'd noticed in the few photos she'd seen of Jocelyn. Joanna was tiny, even for a six-year-old.

"How's Daddy's best girl doin'? You havin' a good day so far, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, Daddy! Grammie made me a big ol' cake – I don't get to eat it yet until my party, though. It's chocolate, and it's got pink flowers on it, and it's real pretty. And Grampa says I get a big surprise from him later – and I don't know what it is."

Len laughed. "That's why it's called a surprise, darlin'. You're not _supposed_ to know what it is."

There was a brief pause, and Joanna had looked backward over her shoulder as though to check on what else was going on around her. Len spoke up again.

"So, baby – did my presents for you get there all right? Did you get a chance to open them up?"

She rolled her eyes at him, just a little. "Yeah, Daddy. But how come you sent me more princess vids? I watched those when I was a _baby_. I'm a big girl now. And the dress is kinda cool – but I don't play dress-up anymore. I'm _six_, Daddy."

At that point, another voice – a woman, sounding scandalized, could be heard in the background.

"Joanna Eleanora McCoy – don't you _ever _speak that way to your father! He went to so much trouble to find you those beautiful gifts – you tell him thank you _right now_, young lady, and you _mean_ it!"

Joanna looked chastised, embarrassed – and, Nyota thought, more than a little bit pissed off. _Her father's daughter in more ways than one._ "Yes, Mama," Joanna replied quietly.

_Wait – that was **Jocelyn** who'd jumped to Len's defense so quickly? Well, if that weren't a small miracle, in and of itself._

"Thank you, Daddy, for the presents. They're very nice."

"Joss." Len's voice sounded strained. "She's just little. You don't have to make her say..."

"Leonard." Now Jocelyn herself came into view. _ Damn, those photos don't lie – she's gorgeous._ "You went to all that effort to find those wonderful movies, and that beautiful little dress – all especially to remind her of the special times the two of you've had together watching some of those vids and reading fairy tales. I know what kind of time that had to have taken – and how much trouble it is to get stuff from where you are to where we are."

Jocelyn shook her head then, and a wisp of dark auburn hair fell unheeded across her forehead. "She might be just little, Leonard – but you don't want me to raise our daughter to be ungrateful – or disrespectful – do you? If the situation had been reversed just now, you'd never have let her speak to me that way, and you know it."

Len had sighed then. "I know, Joss – and I'm not criticizing you. You and Mark are doing a wonderful job of raising Jo, and you know how grateful I am to you both for it..."

"Leonard. _You're_ still her father. You're _always _her father. You and I – well, we didn't work out, and... I'm not proud of who I was or how I acted then, but God knows you can't go back and change the past. But," Jocelyn sighed, "I'll always be glad we had Joanna, you and I – and we're always her parents, no matter what else happens."

Len hadn't said anything in response – _maybe he didn't know what to say_, Nyota reflected.

Meanwhile, Joanna had waited quietly through her parents' conversation, but now she was starting to fidget. "Mama, do I have to stay here and talk? I wanna go see Grampa's surprise now."

Jocelyn's voice held a note of false cheer. "Don't you want to stay for a minute and talk to Daddy? You haven't had a chance to talk to him in a long time – you can tell him about how school is going, and find out how things are going out in space with Daddy and your crazy Uncle Jim."

Joanna looked dubious, and Nyota could hear the pain in Len's voice as he'd replied. "No, Joss – let her go see her surprise. We can talk some other time, Princess."

"'Kay, Daddy – talk to you later – love you!" And Joanna was gone in a flash of party dress and pigtails.

"Leonard, I'm sorry." Jocelyn sounded sincerely regretful. "I guess I should have known better than to schedule the call so close to her party. You know she worships you – she always talks about you to her friends, and she's so proud of –"

"Please, Joss. Not now, okay? It's all right, really. Like I said, we'll talk some other time when I can get a link scheduled."

Nyota could hear his voice starting to sound suspiciously tight. "You... you give her a hug for me, willya? And... maybe you wouldn't mind finding her a present that she'd actually like, and giving it to her for me? You can just take it out of my account, whatever it ends up costing you – I don't much care."

"Leonard, I..."

"Talk to you later, Joss. Give my regards to your Mom and Dad and Mark – and y'all have fun at the party, okay?"

_End transmission_ – and the blue Starfleet logo reappeared on Len's computer screen. He reached up again with both hands to take Nyota's, where they still rested on his shoulders.

"It's just... that was the first time she didn't wanna talk to me. I know I shouldn't care – 'cause it sure as hell won't be the last time – but..."

He swallowed hard. "She was – she was my little princess, Nyota. She's my whole world – always has been, from the day she was born. Now it's like I don't really even know her anymore; she's growing up without me, and pretty soon I'm just gonna be a name to her – some fella in a picture in her room – if I'm not already. I'm..."

His hands moved again, reaching up to cover his face. "I know... it's stupid, and I'm overreacting. I really do know. But..."

Damn – there wasn't much more of this Nyota was going to be able to take without doing something, but she didn't know what the hell she _could_ do.

But in a sudden flash of inspiration, she realized that of course she did.

Taking him utterly by surprise, she reached down to spin Len's chair so that he was facing her. The lost, heartbroken expression on his face as he looked up at her almost undid her completely – but without giving herself the time to think about it, Nyota deposited herself firmly on Len's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close to her in a gentle embrace.

"It's not stupid," she whispered, her fingers absently stroking through his hair. "And even if you know it's just because she's a little girl who's _acting_ like a little girl, and you know in your heart that she really does love you just as much as she ever has, well... it had to be just devastating. I mean, you're her_ Daddy_, and to... well, I can't even imagine how much it must have hurt. Damn, babe, it's all I can do not to cry my heart out right now – and it didn't even happen to me."

There was a long, long silence, as both of them were lost to their own thoughts. Nyota didn't really know how much time had passed as they sat there together that way.

Then, suddenly, she felt him shaking beneath her – _oh, God, if he cries, I know I will_ – but then he looked up, and to her astonishment, he had the beginnings of a smile on his face. And – could it possibly be? Yes – he was laughing, just a little.

"Okay, I give up. What the hell could _possibly_ be funny right now?"

Now he really did laugh – a quiet, wonderful sound. "I was just thinking – this sure as hell isn't how Jim woulda handled this situation." He smirked wryly at her, and she realized belatedly that in their current position, perched on his lap as she was, Nyota pretty much had her chest stuck right in his face.

He didn't seem to mind – and was, in fact, evidently enjoying the view.

"Galileo Academy?" he asked bemusedly.

_Where the hell had that come from?_

"What? Oh – the shirt. It's where 'Ru went to high school – I sort of permanently borrowed it from him. I've got a thing for sleeping in big t-shirts."

Though he wasn't looking up just now, she could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. "Yeah, I'd gathered that."

Now, she didn't need to know that he'd never forgotten the evening he'd come to talk to her when she'd just come out of the shower with her hair still in a towel, dressed in baggy pajamas and looking like...

...Like every fantasy he'd had since, that's how she'd looked. His eyes traveled down now, along the length of those gorgeous legs – and he silently thanked God for whatever had possessed her to wear shorts tonight – but that wasn't what he was looking for.

Yep – there they were. Purple.

His sudden smile as he looked back up at her nearly took her breath away. "You've got a thing for the big t-shirts – and the goofy socks."

Nyota squeaked with surprise then as he suddenly got up out of the chair, taking her with him as though she weighed nothing at all, and deposited her neatly back onto the couch.

"And how the hell you can manage to cheer me up by just being here – well, I don't really know how you do it, but darlin', you do. Maybe I needed somebody else to feel sorry for me besides just myself – or to tell me that I'm not nuts for feelin' so awful about it – but... damn, woman. You just walked in here and... and made me feel human again."

For the first time since she'd come into his quarters, Nyota took a moment to look – really look – at Len... and swallowed hard. Because... _damn_. He was in an ancient t-shirt of his own – _Ole Miss? Really?_ – and soft, well-worn plaid pajama pants. He was barefoot – _and why the hell is that __**hot**__? _ No telling, but it was – just like the stubble that was starting to grow along that gorgeous jawline of his.

Len might be the only guy Nyota had ever known that looked – hell, he looked _amazing_ – in semi-ratty pajamas, with his hair messed up (though she'd done that, truth be told) and needing a shave.

She realized she was staring – and blushed, just a little. "I make you feel human?" She smiled warmly up at him. "Oh, honey – you're human, all right."

And his laughter, just at that moment, was possibly the most wonderful thing she'd ever heard.

He stopped for a moment, and looked just a little uncertain. "You've been great, Nyota – honestly you have, and I can't thank you enough. But I know it's late, and you'd probably like to get back to your quarters and go to sleep... yeah?"

Something was happening here; she didn't know quite why, but she knew her answer was going to be important.

"Actually, Doctor McCoy, I believe you owe me a movie – seeing as how you canceled Movie Night on all of us earlier." She smiled again, mischievously. "We're not on duty in the morning – so I think it's about time you pay up."

His smile was like a light in the dark room – she'd said the right thing, and she was so glad. "So, Lieutenant – what do you want to watch?"

"Well, I'd say in honor of our favorite little princess, we put on 'Beauty and the Beast' – what do you say to that?"

"I say, I'll find the vid if you'll get the popcorn."

...

* * *

...

_**Well**. This chapter isn't over – not by rather a long shot – but rather than wait longer to post, or to have a Monster Chapter from Hell, I figured I'd stop this one here._

_More Bones & Nyota to come shortly..._

_And I know I don't have to mention the review business – so I won't __–__ but here's what I do want to say: I'm well aware – and highly appreciative – of the amazing (insightful, literate, brilliant, awesome) readers and reviewers that I do have. I know I'm never going to be one of the FanFic Goddesses who gets bajillions of reviews – and that's all right with me. For those of you who do read – and especially those who review – I love reading what you write, I get all happy when you "favorite," and I'm tickled when you put my work on "alert." Thanks for reading, and for your continued interest._

_You people ROCK, and I love you all._

_Oh, and... T'Key'la, honey? Happy birthday. :-)_


	15. Something There

_**A/N:** All right, kids - be warned._

_Here be schmoop._

_A veritable schmoop soup.  
_

_Schmoop by the scoop._

_Boop-boop-de-doop._

_However, we're coming very close to the end of the "happy sappy" part of this story, and closer to... _

_The Part Where Really Bad Stuff Starts Happening._

_Meanwhile, this chapter goes out with thanks to my partner in crime (and many other things), the wondrous T'Key'la - and to my darling Problematique, who certainly knows how to inflate someone's ego. Hope finals are going well for you, preciosa!  
_

* * *

**No, it can't be; I'll just ignore...**

**But then, she's never looked at me that way before...**

**~ "Beauty and the Beast"**

* * *

"...Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him 'til Chapter Three..." Nyota caught herself singing along, and trailed off with a self-conscious giggle. She was glad the room was dark enough that her blush wouldn't be too obvious.

Len laughed good-naturedly at her embarrassment. "Sing along all you want, darlin' – you sound better than she does, anyway." Len's eyes never left the screen, but his arm around her pulled her just a bit more tightly against his side as they sat together on the sofa. Nyota relished the warmth of his body – _yeah, that and how damn __**good**__ he smells_ – as she snuggled closer still.

Had she chosen to look up just then, she'd have seen a smile lingering on Len's face.

How the hell a night that had seemed to be awful beyond redemption had turned out to be – _well, pretty damn wonderful, really_ – was more than Leonard McCoy could fathom just now.

He was, however, sure beyond the shadow of a doubt that the transformation was entirely due to the woman who sat there next to him; this brilliant, gorgeous woman whose talents and sheer intellect inspired respect that bordered on awe throughout Starfleet – and who was currently singing Disney tunes as though she weren't much older than Jo-Jo.

And she was here, watching an ancient movie in the middle of the night. With him.

Vaguely, McCoy registered that the evil buffoon, Gaston, was now singing about how fabulous he was – _he's always reminded me of some of the little pricks at the Academy_ – but his mind wasn't really with the video.

Instead, he was hearing Nyota's voice, repeating the same words over and over – almost like playing back a recording...

"I realized that... dammit, Len, I don't want you going through things alone. Not anything – not ever. And if something's happened to hurt you... well, I don't want it to be Jim Kirk who makes it better. I want it to be me."

No woman – not Joss, not anybody – had ever said anything like that to him before. And he'd gotten to know Nyota well enough over the past couple of months that he could tell just by the sound of her voice that she really meant what she'd said.

And... damned if it wasn't the most amazing thing she could have possibly said to him.

Leonard allowed his eyes to stray surreptitiously down to where Nyota nestled in the curve of his arm – and felt something stirring within him that he hadn't felt for a very long time.

He sat back just a little, trying hard not to read too much into all of the evening's events – and trying especially hard not to spend too much time analyzing his own emotions. He'd gotten very good at that last part – because he'd found that if he ignored feelings long enough, most of them went away.

More or less.

If, however, he'd felt more like trying to identify the feeling that was as warm in his chest as Nyota felt pressed against his heart, he might have found it to be a lot like... hope.

…

…

They'd sat perfectly quietly for so long now that Leonard was pretty sure that he had no idea of how to break the silence if he wanted to. He had no idea of whether or not he wanted to, either.

_Dammit – almost thirty-four years old, and I feel like I'm seventeen again. And not in any kind of a good way. _Tongue-tied, more than a little freaked out – and feeling his traitorous body responding in all kinds of embarrassing ways to all the various sensations that came along with having Nyota's soft warmth snuggled in so close to him...

_Dammit._

And then, as if on cue, the music for the Big Romantic Scene – all right, _one_ of the Big Romantic Scenes – began to swell, as Belle in her beautiful golden ball gown came sweeping elegantly through the doors and onto the staircase.

Nyota shifted just then – moved to get up. Was she leaving? Of course, it was insanely late by now – had to be – but he'd thought that maybe she'd want to stay at least until the end of the movie...

But no; she did get up, and moved to stand between Len and the glowing screen. She took a step backward, but held out both of her hands to him, smiling silently.

Really? She wanted him to _dance_ with her? Here? Now?

Yeah, she did.

_Well, hell. I can do that._

He stood up too, solemnly sketching her a courtly bow – then taking the hand she offered, placing his other hand gently on her waist.

_Tale as old as time..._

Not many people knew it – there wasn't really any reason for them to know – but Leonard McCoy not only enjoyed dancing, but was actually pretty damn good at it. Though he'd never been able to make music worth much – hadn't found an instrument he liked well enough to stick with, and wasn't too much of a singer – he had always been a natural for feeling the rhythm of a song, and moved Nyota around the tiny space now with easy grace.

_Barely even friends_

_Then somebody bends_

_Unexpectedly..._

McCoy couldn't help pulling her closer just then; it had been almost just like that for them – they'd gone from colleagues to friends to... maybe a lot more.

_Both a little scared _

(_No kidding_, he thought)

_Neither one prepared_

"Beauty and the Beast," Len whispered, smiling into Nyota's silky hair, and feeling her laugh more than hearing it.

_Only me, _Leonard thought_. Who else would have his love life set to music by a goddamn singing **teapot**, for Christ's sake?_

But it didn't matter, because he loved this damn goofy vid – always had – singing teapot and all. And now all at once, the teapot seemed to be singing about _him_. And that was just all kinds of weird, really.

It didn't matter, because Nyota's eyes were glowing up at him as though they really were waltzing through a glittering ballroom in their best finery – instead of moving carefully in the tiny open space of McCoy's cabin. In their pajamas, no less.

It didn't matter – because somehow in that moment, with Nyota's heart-stopping smile serving as the center of his own private universe, Leonard McCoy found himself wondering if, this time, it really would be all right to open up – to trust someone else with his heart. He'd never thought he would let that happen again...

_Bittersweet and strange_

_Finding you can change_

_Learning you were wrong..._

Afterward, it occurred to him that the song must have ended at some point – of course it had. But just at that moment, Nyota had looked so irresistibly lovely that he couldn't help himself; he lowered his head to capture those smiling lips with his own...

And Belle and her Beast were forgotten, at least for the time being.

…

…

_All right. It isn't as though you've never kissed him before – so pull it together, girl. _

_Or not..._

And it was true; they had kissed before – any number of times. It had started small – she surprised him occasionally with a goodnight peck – and had developed from there to "real" kisses every so often at the end of one of their informal dates.

Those kisses had been lovely; sweet, warm, and just enough to let Nyota know that Len was, in fact, a very good kisser indeed.

But they hadn't prepared her for this – for this fierce, glorious kiss that seemed to claim her, possess her, set her heart to thundering in her ears and make her blood feel like fire in her veins...

For this kiss that made her ache for so much more – everything more. Everything he could possibly give her.

And here she was, the fiercely independent and self-sufficient Nyota Uhura, utterly lost in this man; clinging to him like he was salvation itself – and feeling him clinging to her in the same way.

Certainly, she'd been kissed before – many times. By men whom she knew wanted her – and sometimes whom she'd even believed were in love with her. But it hadn't ever been like this – Len was kissing her as though she were his oxygen, like he might die without her, like she was the single most important thing in the universe.

It hadn't ever been like this. It was terrifying, and thrilling.

Suddenly, Len broke away, breathing raggedly. Gently, he moved her off of his lap – how had she gotten there? – and placed her gently onto the sofa next to him. He seemed to be struggling to control himself; he was flushed, his lips slightly swollen from their kiss, and those ever-expressive hazel eyes were dark with longing.

Nyota hadn't believed it was possible for Len to look any more desirable – _but... oh, God. _She wanted nothing more in that moment than for him to _stop_ trying to control himself...

"Nyota... I'm sorry. No. I'm not sorry – but... damn. Can't make sense right now..."

_Great. Sound like an idiot much, McCoy?_

Not that he could much help it – the blood supply that normally kept his brain functioning had long since moved lower. Jim referred to it as the "thinking with your dick phenomenon" – and he'd watched Jim experiencing that particular phenomenon any number of times.

But regardless of what various parts of his own anatomy might currently be clamoring for – Nyota sure as hell deserved better than that from him.

He made another attempt at coherent speech – but... _damn_. Looking at her, all in a dreamy-eyed, gorgeous mess from their kiss – well, that was more than he could handle. He looked down at his own knees, and tried yet again.

"Darlin', I'm not sorry for that kiss just now – far from it, believe me – but I don't wanna go too fast, here."

He didn't dare look up, but her response – a frustrated noise that was as close to a _whimper_ as he could imagine ever coming from Nyota – came pretty damn close to undoing him entirely.

"What, exactly, constitutes 'too fast,' in your opinion?"

_Damn, she can even manage to be articulate at a moment like this. She's_... _amazing. Just plain amazing._

He didn't answer her question; he wasn't really sure he knew the answer – or if she really even wanted one. Instead, he was silent for a long moment. "Nyota..." he sighed. "You need to know – all right, a lot of it you already know – but, well... I don't do this kinda thing very often."

He laughed briefly, bitterly. "Hell, I don't do it at all. But – you've gotta know that it... it _means_ something to me. That you mean something – you mean a _lot _– to me. But I... I'm..."

"Len." Nyota cut him off, but her voice was achingly gentle. "I know what you are. And I know what you think you are. I know you think you're damaged goods, somehow – and you don't really have anything to offer a woman." She reached up then, brushing back a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "But... you're just wrong, Len. I know you're wrong – and somewhere in there, you're starting to realize that you're wrong, too."

She smiled up at him, a little shyly. "Otherwise, there's just no way you could have kissed me like that."

She wrapped her arms around herself, dropping her gaze as if she were embarrassed to meet his – and just that little gesture suddenly made Len want to protect her from everything in the universe, forever.

Then she looked back up at him, with a kind of wonder shining in her soft brown eyes. "Because... nobody's ever kissed me like that."

She saw him looking at her with an incredulous expression – like he really wanted to ask her something, but didn't know how.

_Or maybe he's just too much of a gentleman to pry into my love life; you just know his mama raised him to know that there are things that a gentleman does __**not**__ ask a lady..._

He took a deep breath. "Nyota..." he paused, reconsidered, tried again. "Nyota – you could have anybody. _Anybody._ Why me?"

Did he really think that? Because that was... honestly, it was charming. But those gorgeous, intense eyes were fixed on her, and she saw that he really was waiting for an answer.

"Len. First of all, you're wrong. I can't have 'anybody,' as you seem to think. I learned that a long time ago – that pretty much every man I met turned out to be interested in me because I was, oh..."

"Gorgeous?" he prompted. "Exquisite? Stunning? Breathtaking?" He smiled warmly at her blush.

"Hush, you. Because I was... attractive, yes. And somehow, they figured that I'd automatically be willing to... to take the relationship to the next level with them physically. As if somehow being pretty also made me – oh, I don't know... _easy._" She curled her lip in disgust, remembering some of the charmers she'd dealt with in the past. "That's why I never had any relationships at the Academy – and how I managed to develop my reputation as a little bit of - oh, you know... a ball-buster, I guess."

Len's laugh was appreciative. "Heard that term applied to you at the Academy more than once, darlin'." He paused, looking at her consideringly. "But... your relationship with – with..."

"With Spock? You can say it, Len – he can't hear you or anything, and..." Impulsively, she pressed herself closer to him, her next words in a huskier tone of voice than perhaps she'd intended. "...You might have picked up on this, but it certainly isn't like I'm still pining for him."

Len's arms tightened around her again, almost involuntarily – and she smiled to herself as she tucked her head against the warmth of his muscular chest before continuing. "But... things with Spock were – how can I say this? They probably weren't quite what everyone thought they were."

She felt Len tense at that, just a little – but there was no reaction from him otherwise. It was almost as though she could feel him waiting for her to say more.

_He really isn't going to ask for details, is he?_

_But he's going to get them._

"Like I said – every guy who'd ever shown an interest in me had seemed to be drawn to my... physical attractiveness. And like I said – I got sick of it. So... Spock. As you might be able to imagine, Spock was pretty much the antithesis of all those other men; if he noticed any of my physical attributes at all, I'm pretty sure it was by accident. He was attracted to my intellect – and that was quite a rush." Nyota paused for a deep breath. "At least it was at first."

Now she could practically feel Len's eyes on her; he'd gone utterly still. He surprised her by speaking – surprised her even more with the suddenly fierce undercurrent in his voice.

"At first? He... he didn't do anything to hurt you, did he?" He sounded as though if she'd said yes, Len would have been out of there immediately to do God only knew what to Spock.

She hastily reassured him. "No, no – not like that. No."

_Damn._ For someone who had always taken pride in being able to look out for herself, it was almost frightening to Nyota how much she enjoyed feeling... _protected, I suppose,_ by this gruff, gorgeous bear of a man whose arms encircled her so tightly just now.

"It was just... it was... _different_ with Spock. He was always kind and respectful to me – don't get me wrong. But it became clear to me pretty quickly that... how do I put this? That he wasn't really interested in the kind of relationship I wanted to pursue."

_There you go - that's it. That sounds a **lot** better than "He wasn't in love with me" or "I couldn't get him into bed to save my life." _

"He was..." she assumed her best Vulcan tone of voice, "not averse to attempting Human courtship rituals of the more physical nature, if such was my requirement." She laughed at that, just a little. "I suppose I didn't really want to be with a guy who at best was 'not averse' to physical contact with me – which was kind of ironic, considering that I was trying to get away from men who only wanted that from me."

Len's voice was noncommittal. "Sounds pretty complicated."

Nyota sighed, burrowing in closer still; somehow, just Len's physical presence made all these confessions just a little easier. "Complicated. Good word for it. But honestly? I could have probably dealt with the lack of a... physical aspect to the relationship if only I'd... if I'd thought he loved me."

"You didn't think he did?" Len sounded surprised. "I thought he did."

_No, McCoy. You thought that **anyone** who was lucky enough to have Nyota Uhura couldn't help but be in love with her – even an emotionless, green-blooded hobgoblin._

"I told myself he did. Because – I won't lie to you – I did love him, Len. In a way, on some level, I always will – but not in a romantic way. Not anymore."

This was embarrassing stuff to have to admit. But Len needed to hear it, Nyota knew.

"But eventually, Spock – very gently – explained to me that romantic love was beyond his emotional capabilities. And since that was pretty much the basis for our relationship – or it had been – there wasn't any... _logical_ reason for us to continue seeing each other."

"Beyond his emotional capabilities. He really said that to you?" Len sounded just a little incredulous. "Does he really believe that?"

_Because if it isn't plain to the hobgoblin that he's head over pointed ears in love with – of all people – Jim Kirk, for God's sake... If that isn't obvious to that Vulcan idiot, it certainly isn't much of a secret to anybody else who knows them both particularly well. _

Nyota's thoughts were clearly running along the same line. "I think he wants to believe that – because the truth of the matter is that being in love is... scary. And for Spock... for him, I'd suppose it's got to be downright terrifying."

"So, meanwhile, he's going to do his Cleopatra imitation and go cruising down denial?"

Nyota elbowed him halfheartedly in the ribs. "Never heard that one before, Len." She took a deep breath – one of these days, it would be good to know what exactly about him smelled so good. For now, though, she'd simply enjoy it.

"But I never answered your question – why you? Actually, that's pretty easy, believe it or not." She disengaged herself gently from his arms, backing just far enough away so that she could see him clearly as she spoke. "You know how I said I was trying to get away from guys who just wanted me for my looks? And then I went and had my heart broken by Spock because he only wanted me for my brains? Then there was you... and I was attracted to you for... for a lot of reasons, really."

Nyota's fingers went briefly back into his hair, moving down to trace the line of cheekbone and lightly-stubbled jaw. "It can't have entirely escaped your notice that you, my friend, are what we ladies refer to as _fine._"

He looked down, blushing furiously – which she could even see by the dim light of the vid screen – and she wanted to stop talking and just kiss him senseless again.

_No. Not yet..._

"But what attracted me to you especially – at least at first – was that you didn't seem to have any interest in me at all. Not my looks, not my brains – not at all." She tilted her head just a bit, remembering. "I don't know if that was me being masochistic, or just that urge I always have to take on a challenge. That's what you were, Len – before I got to know you, to find out what a good, kind, funny, brilliant, soft-hearted, _wonderful _man you really were behind all your grumpy bullshit - you were a challenge. I was going to try to make you notice me – and see if I couldn't get you to like me, at least a little."

Len's eyes had snapped back up to hers as she'd spoken, and he was staring – just staring – at her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again – once, twice – before finally swallowing hard and finding his voice.

"Not – not..." He had to stop again. "You thought – holy God – you thought that _**I**_ wasn't interested? _Not interested?_ In _you?_"

Nyota looked more confused than surprised. "Well – Lord knows you kept your distance. I don't think you said more than half a dozen sentences to me in our years at the Academy – you know that as well as I do. And once we got onto the Enterprise together, it was mostly stuff like 'you're overdue for your physical, Lieutenant' – that sort of thing." She shrugged her shoulders. "What was I supposed to think?"

Absently, Len reached up and rubbed his hair into a total mess with one hand. "What were you supposed to think?" He focused his attention to his right knee, which was jittering rapidly up and down until he reached down and grabbed it with his right hand. "You weren't supposed to notice me at all, that's what you were supposed to think. I mean – God. You were – you were Nyota Uhura, the most beautiful girl at the Academy by a mile. Hell, by a light year."

He smiled tentatively up at her for a moment before continuing to address his pajama pants. "And then, as if that weren't enough – turned out you were even more brilliant than you were gorgeous. I think I actually fell in love with you the first time I saw you hand Jim Kirk his ass in an argument after class one day. Because, seriously -"

Realization dawned on him slowly, as he trailed off into panicked silence. _Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit – I __**said**__ it. Did she hear me?_

He lifted his eyes again – and hers were shining like stars; he'd never seen anything like the smile she was giving him right then.

_Yeah. She definitely heard me. _

"Len? You... you..." Nyota couldn't bring herself to repeat what she thought she'd just heard – because...

Because that had been the sound of a dream coming true – and that happened to princesses on the vids, but not to her.

At least, not yet.

He lifted his chin a little – almost as though he were defying anyone to argue with him. "Yeah, darlin' – fell in love with you. Of course, back then, I'd fallen for the woman I thought you were – but you were so far out of my league that I knew better than to... yeah. And I knew that I didn't have it in me to be rejected again – I was, I don't know, kinda _fragile_ at that point, as bad as that sounds."

He laughed, quietly. "Can I tell you? It actually got to the point a while back that when I saw you were going all googly-eyed over whoever's been writing these poems..." He stopped then, reaching over to open a drawer of his desk nearby.

"Googly-eyed?" Nyota smiled at that, feigning indignance. "I'll have you know, Dr. McCoy, that I most certainly do _not_ become googly-eyed."

"All right, then, whatever you wanna call it when you get that look on your face – I got jealous of whoever it was that was making you look that way. And..." he handed her a PADD, agonizing self-consciousness written all over his face, "I... well, shit. I even wrote you a goddamn poem."

Just the fact that he'd done such a thing took Nyota's breath away – but of course, she couldn't wait to read it...

**For Nyota – a Rondeau**

When you smile, my world stops in its place

And yes, you're right. That's crap. In any case,

You won't want drivel about how you glow,

Or all the other things you likely know

About the loveliness that is your face.

...

And when you sing, I feel my heartbeat race,

Good Lord, how trite – have I lost every trace

Of intellect? Yes, that's the first to go

When you smile.

...

You've heard about your beauty and your grace,

Does that bore you? I hope not, as I trace

The progress of my feelings as they grow

And make me write this stupid-ass Rondeau

It's worth it – even being here in space

When you smile.

...

At that, she did smile up at him – with all the love in her heart shining clearly in her eyes. She didn't speak; she couldn't.

Len reached over to tuck a strand of Nyota's hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek tenderly with his hand and smiling as she leaned into the caress. "Like I said – I fell for the woman I thought you were. Then... one day, you actually started paying attention to me – God only knows why – and once I got over being scared to death of making a complete ass of myself in front of you, I got a chance to get to know the woman you really are. You're gorgeous and smart, sure – but you're also kind, and loving, and funny as all get-out, which is fantastic, really."

Leaning forward, he brushed the lightest of kisses onto her forehead. "By the way – the reality of you? Beats the hell out of the fantasy of you, any day."

Leonard McCoy had been through three years of intensive training at Starfleet Academy. He'd been through the whole shitstorm with the _Narada_ – and on more than one occasion during the past two years on the Enterprise, he'd faced aliens with weapons he didn't even recognize.

He'd even had to go on a goddamn _space_ walk, for Christ's sake.

So how was it that this moment was possibly the scariest he'd ever faced?

He took a deep breath, and reached down to take her face in his hands. "Nyota – you're still way the hell out of my league. Always will be. And what in blazes you see in me is always going to be beyond me. But... well, darlin', if you're wantin' to stick around, you should know that's what I want, too. Because... hell, you heard me the first time. I fell in love with the woman I thought you were, way back when. And I fell in love all over again with – with you, Nyota. I just couldn't help it."

He wasn't sure he'd ever known her to be quiet for this long during a conversation – and if it weren't for the brilliant, wonderful smile that lit up her face – _h__er face? How about the whole room? _– Len might have wondered how Nyota had felt about his declaration.

Then she leaned up to kiss him, and cleared up any doubt he might have had on the subject.

...

Nyota had no idea how much time had passed – she wondered if it would always be like that when she was kissing Len – when she stopped suddenly, pulling slightly backward from her position astride his lap.

"Umm... Len?" He buried his face into the hollow of her throat.

"Mmmmm?" he growled.

"You do know... you do know I love you, too – right?"

He trailed lazy, open-mouth kisses along her long, slender neck. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered into her ear – his hot, moist breath sending shivers throughout her whole body. "I'm a pretty quick study."

"So..." Nyota couldn't believe she was about to say this – she'd never been so forward with a man in her entire life. "Do you suppose we could take this... activity... elsewhere?"

Len froze. "You mean... you want... now?"

Her heart sank. _Oh, shit – what have you done now, girl?_ "You mean... you don't?"

With a short bark of laughter, Len reached up and cupped her backside in his hands, pressing her hips forward against his own. The evidence of his own arousal was obvious.

_And pretty damn impressive, at that..._

"You tell me, sweetheart. D'you think I don't want to?" He couldn't seem to take his hands away from her – they moved up from her hips up to her sides, reaching up to gently cup her breasts.

_Those surgeon's hands – oh, my, yes. _ Those skilled, graceful hands had played prominently in more than one of Nyota's fantasies as she'd imagined how they'd feel on her body.

_Len had it right – the reality beats the hell out of the fantasy, any day._

He was still talking to her, though – not that she was really listening. Not when he was making her feel like... _oh, my, yes._

"I just always thought that... if I ever did have a first time with you, that you'd deserve something really special. You deserve more than this, darlin.'" His hands, his mouth – damn, even his _voice_ was caressing her.

She smiled down at him, a wonderful, feral look in her eyes that absolutely went right through him and – if such a thing were physically possible – made him even more achingly hard for her. Then Nyota gently ground her hips against his yet again, with a low, indescribably sexy little laugh.

"Sweetheart, I don't have any way of knowing this for sure quite yet, but –" Her hips moved once more, and her smile was even more suggestive – "it seems to me you already have... s_omething really special _for me. And I don't know what I do or don't deserve, Leonard McCoy – but I'll tell you right now that a gentleman doesn't keep a lady waiting."

The sultry tone she'd tried to maintain was lost to a squeak of surprise as he stood with her in his lap, scooping her up as though she weighed next to nothing, and carried her back into his private quarters.

Deftly – Nyota really couldn't have said how afterward – he'd gotten them both onto the bed, with her stretched out full-length on top of him.

Len's voice in her ear was somewhere between a growl and a purr – and just indescribably hot. "Never let it be said, my love, that Leonard McCoy doesn't know how to behave like a gentleman."

...

Much, much later in the course of the night – though surely it was morning by now – Len woke to the sound of Nyota's voice. He couldn't really tell what she'd said – she was barely awake, and her voice was muffled against his shoulder as they lay together in a glorious tangle of limbs.

"I'm sorry, darlin' – what did you say?"

She lifted her head just a little – and damned if a messed-up, well-loved Nyota Uhura wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever lain eyes on.

"I said, I told you that no woman in her right mind would have to fake it with you."

He grinned, inordinately pleased at her words. "So, it was good for you?"

She dropped her head back onto his shoulder, drifting quickly toward sleep again. "Oh, honey," she murmured, a smile warm in her voice. "They all were."

* * *

**_And we're not even going to have the review discussion, right?_**

**_No. Of course not._**


	16. Shore Leave, Part 1

**"I'm afraid of nothing except being bored."**

**~Greta Garbo**

* * *

The prospect of a five-day shore leave was undeniably appealing to everyone on the crew of the _Enterprise_ – things had been... too quiet. Too normal. And that was weird.

And boring.

And Jim Kirk had long since learned that when the crew got bored, that's when... _interesting_ things started happening.

"Scotty, I thought I told you to put the kibosh on the 'Jefferies Tubes Evasion Exercises,' didn't I?"

"Aye, that ye did, Captain – but the boys didn't have anythin' better to do, and I didn't have the heart to tell 'em no. It didn't occur to me at the time that they'd be up to any mischief... sir." The Chief Engineer at least had the grace – or the good sense – to pretend to be regretful.

"You need to keep those 'boys' of yours under just a bit more control, Mr. Scott. It's one thing, having them hide from each other all over the ship. But..." Kirk suppressed a chuckle; he could afford to be amused now because no harm had actually been done - but it could have been a real shitstorm if those oversexed assholes in Engineering had gotten their wish.

"When I discover that a significant number of my Beta shift Engineering staff are huddled into a group peering through the ventilation shaft in the women's locker room off Rec Room 8 waiting for someone to come in – dammit, Scotty, I think you'd agree that the female crew members on board the _Enterprise_ deserve more respectful treatment than that, wouldn't you?"

"I would say so, Captain – and I'd think ye'd agree that those boys o' mine ended up getting what was comin' to 'em, would ye not?"

The chuckle could no longer be suppressed. "Thanks to Lieutenant Sajadi, they certainly did. Now, granted – we'll still need to repair the tube... and Bones isn't thanking either of us for the sudden influx of engineers into Sickbay, either. But under the circumstances, I won't be recommending any disciplinary action for the intrepid lieutenant – would you agree?"

"Aye, sir. It's not easy on Badria bein' one of the only women on my staff – and I know that sometimes I have a 'boys will be boys' attitude that can't help, either." Now Scotty couldn't help chuckling as well. "But... Badria can take care of herself – and no doubt any number of other people into the bargain. She's proven that on more than one occasion."

He paused for a moment, not meeting Kirk's eyes. "And honestly, Captain, if it means the fuss over this little escapade means that the crew is less interested in all the gossip about... ahhh..."

"Understood, Mr. Scott." Jim's smile grew larger.

And he did indeed understand; the crew had been going absolutely _nuts_ with speculating about the love lives of various executive officers.

Because...

...

...

_Oh my gosh, did you hear that Lieutenant Uhura spent the night in Dr. McCoy's cabin? _

_I know! She totally did!_

_Now, there's no **proof **of that; I mean, it's not like she did the "walk of shame" in her clothes from the night before._

_Yeah, well – that's only because Chris Chapel snuck down in the middle of the night and put a bag of Uhura's clothes by McCoy's door._

_And how did she happen to know where Uhura was? Want to explain that?_

_So... that's the interesting part. Seems that Uhura ran into Scott in the corridor on her way to McCoy's – and Scott told Chapel._

_Scott told **Chapel** – in the middle of the **night**? So, you mean, they're.. .?_

_Oh, yeah. They so totally are._

_..._

...It occurred to the captain that it was no wonder that his chief engineer was glad to have the crew talking about something else for a while.

Jim laughed again as Scotty, understanding his amusement, gave him a halfhearted glare.

_Of course, the Captain wouldn't be nearly so amused,_ Scotty thought, _if he knew what was getting said about him..._

…

_I think it's so romantic – the two of them started out as sworn enemies, and now..._

_You really think they're – the Captain? And **Spock**? I mean, you don't think they..._

_I absolutely thought they were – I mean, they were together all the time for a while, didn't you notice? I mean, until all hours of the night in each other's cabins– really. Then they just..._

… _Yeah, I noticed that too; they just kind of **stopped**. Do you suppose they got into a fight about something?_

_Well – I don't know for sure, but I heard it was because Spock got jealous of McCoy._

_McCoy? Why the hell would he be jealous of McCoy? _

_Oh my gosh, didn't you hear? Okay – here's the deal with that. The morning after Uhura supposedly had a... **sleep-over** with McCoy, he runs into Kirk at lunch. So, evidently Kirk had done something to McCoy – don't know what – and is feeling all terrible and trying to apologize to him. Now – I got this second-hand, because I wasn't in the Officer's Mess – but Jamila was there, and she said that when Kirk finally **did** apologize to him, McCoy grabbed him and planted a great big kiss on him!_

_Like, a **kiss** kiss?_

_No – don't think so; think we'd have all heard about it if it had been like that. But still – McCoy kisses Kirk, and then walks away laughing his ass off – and Kirk is standing there looking all confused... and then he starts laughing, too._

_And that made Spock jealous, do you think?_

_Well? Did you notice that all their late nights together stopped then? I mean, what do you make of it?_

_How do you **know** they stopped? Maybe they just got better at sneaking around._

_Bryce in Security. He's in charge of manning the surveillance cameras on Gamma Shift – so he sees who comes and goes... or who doesn't, more to the point._

_So... is it just a spat, do you think, or do you think they've broken up?_

_No telling with Spock – still waters run deep, and all that nonsense. Guess you never know what's going to end up setting him off._

_That's too bad, though, because they're just perfect together..._

_..._

_...  
_

Yeah – _much_ better, Scotty concluded, that Kirk not know about everything that was buzzing about the crew of the Enterprise.

This shore leave couldn't have been scheduled at a better time. Really.

...

* * *

...

"Captain, I could not help noticing that Commodore Beebe seemed extraordinarily enthusiastic about the prospect of our arrival." Spock stood in the open doorway of Kirk's quarters, waiting for him to put the finals touches on what the captain called his "big boy suit" – or, more accurately, his Starfleet dress uniform.

"Hard to say for sure, but I don't think Starbase 84 gets as many visitors from Starfleet as they'd like, being stuck right on the edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone. Not too many folks headed out past here anyway; only ships that even get this far out are mostly traders, freighters, and all that sort of thing." Jim turned his attention from his reflection with a final brush of imaginary lint from his shoulder. "So? Whaddya think, Spock – am I pretty enough for our dinner with the commodore?"

Spock found himself temporarily frozen into speechlessness by the mind-bogglingly illogical question, and utterly at a loss as to how to respond. Jim did look exceptionally esthetically pleasing in his dress uniform – which was simply an observation, and certainly no indication of undue admiration on Spock's part – but Spock doubted that "pretty" would be an accurate description of Jim at this time.

Moreover, as it was obvious that no agreed-upon standard of physical attractiveness existed for dinner with a Starfleet flag officer, Spock realized that Jim was making yet another attempt at humor.

Realizing it and being able to respond to it, unfortunately, were two different things entirely.

"Shit – sorry, Spock." Jim's grin was suddenly wry. "I forget that my sparkling wit isn't always appreciated around these parts." He stepped forward, patting his first officer lightly on the shoulder on his way out the door. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Spock stilled, seeming to draw himself even straighter. "Upon what do you base your assumption that you have made me uncomfortable, Captain?"

Jim stopped in mid-stride to look searchingly at Spock. "Really? Well... first of all, you just called me 'Captain.' Secondly, if you stood any straighter right now, you might actually snap."

Spock, suddenly self-conscious, willed himself to relax the tiniest bit.

"Moreover," Jim continued, "I could just – I don't know – _tell_."

He cocked his head slightly to one side in the way that Spock knew meant Jim was considering something new. "I don't know how to explain it, Spock – but sometimes it's almost like I know what you're thinking." He went on quickly at Spock's sudden look of alarm. "No, no – not like I know _exactly_ what you're thinking. That'd be creepy. But it's more like... oh, hell. I don't know. Maybe – impressions?"

Jim nodded then, more sure of himself. "Yeah, that's more like it. I kind of get _impressions _of what's going on in your head. Like just now – I freaked you out a little bit when I asked you if I looked pretty, because that was just such a fucked up and illogical thing to ask, but you thought if you didn't say something I'd be offended." He shrugged then. "That make any sense to you?"

Spock found himself momentarily speechless again – this time, with surprise. "In fact, it does, Jim," he began, "as I often receive such – _impressions_ is a good word, I believe – from you. It is not an uncommon experience among Vulcans who spend a great deal of time together or who are otherwise... closely related."

There was, to borrow a particularly colorful (though in this case, highly applicable) phrase from Dr. McCoy, _no way in hell_ that he was going to tell Jim that by "closely related," he meant... _exceptionally_ closely related. No way in hell.

"I am surprised, however, to hear that you are experiencing this phenomenon as well; though it is fairly commonplace among Vulcans, I have never heard of a human in which this has occurred."

Jim's answering smile was sudden and bright. "See? I keep telling you how exceptional I am, Spock. You just refuse to believe me." He moved slightly so that the two were no longer standing in Jim's open doorway, allowing the door to whoosh shut behind them as they moved out into the corridor.

"Seriously, though, Spock – considering how we manage to anticipate one another's actions, finish each other's sentences... all that generally awesome shit we do – it kinda makes sense in a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed it does," Spock agreed solemnly. "Considering the obvious inherent differences between ourselves, it seems as though our minds are surprisingly compatible."

"...And that, gentlemen, might be the single scariest thing I've heard this month."

McCoy had evidently walked up behind them unnoticed. Like Kirk and Spock, he was also in his dress uniform; the entire command crew had been invited to dine with Commodore Beebe at a small gathering in their honor.

"Looking especially spiffy, Doctor," Jim said admiringly. "And..." he went on, sniffing the air briefly, "is that... _cologne_ I smell?" He poked an elbow into McCoy's ribs. "You trying to impress Beebe, or a certain xenolinguist of our mutual acquaintance?"

Leonard grinned unrepentantly back at him – and Jim noted with satisfaction that Bones' smiles had been a lot more frequent recently. He knew why, of course – though the two friends didn't discuss McCoy's love life in any kind of detail, his new relationship with Nyota Uhura was perhaps the worst-kept secret on the ship.

"Well, it sure as hell ain't for Beebe, you can bet the farm on that." There was that grin again – and Jim couldn't help but smile even more broadly. "I'm taking Nyota out dancing after we get done with dinner; I checked ahead, and there are a couple of nice little clubs on the base. I figured that if we're gonna be stuck in the back of beyond in Beta Quadrant for as much as a whole year, then I oughta at least make sure she gets an honest-to-God date while I have the chance."

"Some decent clubs? That might bear checking into after dinner." Jim sounded enthusiastic. "What say you, Spock? Would you be amenable to going clubbing?"

Spock looked resigned. "If I say no, Jim, I know from prior experience that you will continue to find ways to... persuade me to accompany you until I have no choice but to acquiesce. Therefore, although you must know I have no real desire to visit such places, I will, as you say, 'go clubbing' with you this evening."

McCoy crowed with laughter. "Tell ya what, Spock – I think you're getting to the point where you know this annoying little shit almost as well as I do." He clapped a scowling Jim on the back.

"That would be _Captain _Annoying Little Shit to you, Doctor."

...

Dinner with Commodore Beebe had ended surprisingly early – to the poorly-concealed delight of the Enterprise officers. It turned out that Beebe, although sociable and a very attentive host, was an "old-school" military man who believed that an early bedtime was absolutely crucial except in the most exceptional of situations.

As a result, he'd done his best – albeit unsuccessfully – to discourage his guests from pursuing other recreational activities elsewhere on the base as they prepared to take their leave of him.

"You've only just arrived, friends – believe me when I tell you that the starbase isn't going anywhere," he exhorted. "You'll be able to see everything just fine tomorrow after a good night's sleep."

Seeing that his words were mostly falling on deaf ears, Beebe shook his head. "I can't seem to convince you any more than I can convince my own people. Don't know what it is with this generation of officers that you all seem to think you can stay out all night and still be fully functional in the morning – but you'll do as you please, of course. You young people always do."

Nyota had smiled sweetly up at him then, laying a hand on his arm. "Commodore, you speak of yourself as though you're a fossil or something – and you really need to stop that. You're obviously still energetic and vital enough to run an entire starbase – and _that's_ certainly not an old man's job, is it, sir?"

Her crew mates had to suppress their amusement – because they knew better than anyone that nobody was going to be able to resist Nyota when she turned on the charm. And sure enough, Beebe's objections were silenced – though Leonard thought he could see the Commodore actually _blushing_ just a bit as he wished them a good night.

"You didn't have to _flirt _with him, did you?" _Damn._ He even sounded peevish to himself.

"Why, Len – if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous!" And damned if she didn't sound just a little... triumphant? Yeah, that was about right – triumphant – about that.

"Jealous! Me? Why..." Len broke off then, wrapping an arm around her slender waist as they made their way through the corridors of Starbase 84.

"Hell yeah, I'm jealous." He stopped, pulling her closer still. "I can't help it if I wanna be the only one who gets that smile, darlin.' Not that ol' fart."

That undercurrent of possessiveness in his voice just about did her in – did he know how damn _sexy_ he sounded?

"Well, _darlin'_," Nyota said with a warm smile, "that ol' fart, as you so eloquently put it, isn't the one who's taking me dancing, is he?" She stood on tiptoe and leaned over to lightly kiss his lips. "Nor will he be the one who takes me back to the _Enterprise _afterward for... who knows?"

Len drew a shaky breath. "Good _lord,_ woman. Talk to me like _that_ and you might just miss out on dancing – I might just throw you over my shoulder and take you straight on back to the ship right now."

She sighed in mock exasperation. "That's just great. If I'd known you were going to renege on the dancing, I'd have gone bungee jumping with Pavel and Hikaru..."

…

"...You about ready, Spock?" Jim was shifting from foot to foot – a sure sign of his growing impatience – but Spock had discovered during the course of the evening that one of Commodore Beebe's officers had amassed a collection of Vulcan art, and Commander Nghiem was in fact eager to have him come and see it.

"Jim, I would be greatly interested in staying here for a brief period to examine Commander Nghiem's Vulcan artifacts. If you do not wish to remain with me, I would suggest instead that you go ahead without me, and I will join you shortly."

Jim didn't like that idea much – but Spock was being so damn _reasonable _about the whole thing. And Jim would be acting like just all kinds of a prick if he didn't let Spock go to see that damn fussy little commander's collection of Vulcan what-the-hell-ever it was. He knew he'd have to agree to Spock's request – and tried his best to at least _act_ gracious.

"Certainly, Spock. Go right ahead." If Jim's hearty acquiescence sounded forced, nobody realized it except for Jim himself.

_Well, and Spock. _

_Of course. _

Because Spock almost always saw right through him – which was admittedly pretty awesome most of the time. Now, however, it was just annoying – because Spock was looking at him with damn near the _exact same _expression that Bones got right before he'd say something like "Don't be such an infant." Bones wouldn't appreciate that.

_Hell, sure he would. He'd laugh his ass off._

"I'll see you when you're done here, Spock." Nodding his farewell to Commander Nghiem - _the damned annoying art-collecting bastard_ - and straightening into his best "Captain stance," Jim turned and strode away in a way that he hoped looked very casual and nonchalant. And manly, of course.

Jim had been very careful during dinner to find out which club Bones planned to visit with Nyota – specifically so that he could avoid it. First of all, he thought that Bones deserved a "date night" without the distraction of having his best friend hanging around watching his every move.

Secondly, there really was only so much of... well, of _that_ that he could take. Seriously.

They'd finally made it to the point where Chekov and Sulu weren't just blatantly staring at one another across the dinner table in the Officers' Mess as though they knew good and goddamn well what was... for dessert. Yeah, they still thought they were being really subtle when they held hands – _and God __only knows what else_, Jim reflected – under the table... but he could live with that.

But... Bones? In _love_? That was going to take some getting used to. And no, it wasn't really as though he was overly demonstrative in public – in his way, he was almost as private about some of his emotions as Spock.

It was just... that _look _he got on his face whenever she came into a room.

_For that matter, the look __**she**__ gets on her face whenever __**he**__ comes into a room,_ Jim mused – _she lights up like a Christmas tree. It'd be nauseating if it weren't so gorgeous._

_And... well, hell. _

Jim stopped in his tracks in the middle of the busy walkway.

_Am I __**jealous**__?_

_Yeah._

**_Shit._**

He'd already been feeling like the worst best friend in the world – though Bones had wholeheartedly forgiven him for having forgotten Joanna's birthday, seeing as how that evening had turned out... yeah. Turned out pretty damn well for him when all was said and done.

Though why the stupid bastard had to accept his apology by kissing him on the cheek in the middle of the Officers' Mess remained a mystery to Jim – and an annoying one, at that.

So... now he really _was_ the worst best friend in the world. He ought to be happy for Bones – because Bones was as genuinely happy as Jim had ever seen him – and for what seemed to be a really good reason. Nyota obviously returned his affections, and Jim knew her well enough to know that she wasn't the "love 'em and leave 'em" type. They were both taking this relationship... well, seriously.

Nyota would be great for Bones – already _was_ great for Bones.

_So why are you jealous, asshole?_

But Jim knew exactly why; Bones had always been... had been... _his_.

Not in _that _kind of way, of course – but Jim knew that Bones was always there for him, ready to drop everything if he thought Jim needed him. And he had that weird sixth sense so that sometimes he knew that Jim needed him before Jim knew it himself.

That wasn't going to go away, of course – Jim knew that. Bones was without a doubt the most loyal friend in the galaxy. In any galaxy. But Jim was going to have to share him now – and he wasn't used to that.

He could hear that voice in his head right now. "Oh, for God's sake, Jim – stop being such an infant." And Jim knew he wasn't being mature, or reasonable, or anything like that just now; he was feeling sorry for himself.

Because he was jealous for another reason, as well.

He and Bones had always had the unspoken understanding that neither of them would ever find that perfect someone who would fall in love with them – the kind of person who would... _who'd want to share the rest of their lives with you, and all that shit, _Jim reflected morosely_._

No "special someone" for either of them - they were both too fucked up. Bones had all his issues with whatever had happened in his past with him and Jocelyn – and even before that, if Jim had his guess. They didn't really talk about it much, either way.

And Jim?

Shit – "fucked up" didn't even _begin_ to describe what went on in _his_ head. He knew that his life without his dad – hell, essentially without his _mom_ – and living with that asshole Frank when he was a little kid had turned him into... well, not the sort of person that somebody else would want to commit to, that's for sure.

And after he'd left home – or rather, after Frank had washed his hands of him and more or less thrown him out – then there had been...

… there'd been the time in his life he wouldn't even let into his own head – and he'd sure as hell never tell anyone about it. Not Bones, not anybody. Not ever. Because some things were honestly too gruesome, too horrifying, to remember. And because...

Jim was pretty thoroughly convinced that there were dark, awful corners of his mind – of his heart – that nobody should ever know about. He'd seen things, done things, known things... and if anyone knew how truly twisted and broken and _terrible_ he was under all his bullshit, they'd never want to be close to him. Never trust him.

Never love him.

Jim realized that he was still standing there like some sort of idiot in the middle of a walkway that crossed the starbase, and, mentally shaking himself, made himself move forward again. He was heading for the nightclub on the far side of the base – not that far, but far enough away so that he wouldn't be underfoot and bugging Nyota and Bones.

_Dammit._

He and Bones both just assumed that neither of them would ever find somebody. They'd be two cranky old bachelors – Bones crankier than Jim, of course – and spend the rest of their days hanging out and doing... whatever cranky old bachelors do.

Only Bones _had_ found somebody. And not just _any_ somebody, either – he'd found Nyota Uhura, whose picture was probably in a dictionary somewhere next to the word "amazing." So... somebody amazing - who was pretty obviously as crazy about him as he was about her.

Bones was happy. He deserved to be happy.

And Jim was happy for him. Really.

But... he couldn't help it.

Even if he knew he'd never find it – never deserve it – he wanted that somebody who'd be the other half of him. Who'd know him - know _all_ of him - and love him anyway.

_And that line of thinking, Jimmy boy, never gets you anywhere good. _

He didn't know what made him think of Spock just then.

Seriously. He didn't.

Picking up his pace, Jim headed toward the sound of music that was coming from a little nook at the end of the walkway.

Spock would be coming soon – and in the meantime, he really could use a drink.

* * *

_**And this scene isn't even close to over - not by a long shot.**_

_However, I didn't want a 10,000 word chapter - and I also know that it's been an inexcusably long time since I've updated, so I figured I'd give you what I've got._

_For those of you to whom this matters - the next chapter will be very much about the Kirk and the Spock. And I'll try to get it done a lot sooner than I got this one done._


	17. Shore Leave, Part 2

_**Oh, gracious. This one is a MONSTER - but it just kept coming and wouldn't stop. I'll warn you now; pack a lunch...**_

_**Moreover, this chapter is very nearly "schmoop-free;" we are transitioning into Bad Things, I'm sorry to say.  
**_

* * *

"_**The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."**_

_**~Edmund Burke **_

* * *

The first thing Jim always noticed about clubs in space – at least as opposed to what passed for clubs in San Francisco or lovely Riverside, Iowa – was the absence of the smoky haze hanging in the air. Though he appreciated that – he'd never seen the appeal of smoking cigarettes or anything else – it was always a little weird. Because other than that one big difference, most of these little holes in the wall had more similarities than differences.

This one looked and felt familiar, too – dark, crowded, and filled with a constant buzz of sound over the back beat of whatever the musician on the stage was playing. Jim didn't recognize the music – or the instrument, for that matter.

_Too bad Hikaru's not here,_ Jim thought; _he'd know the instrument, the song and who composed it and when – and he'd be telling me all about it._

_Yeah – on second thought, maybe it's just as well he isn't here. It's not like I really care._

He stood just inside the entrance, letting his eyes get used to the darkness, and looking for an empty table. Normally, he'd just sit at the bar – but Jim figured that Spock wouldn't care for that. And since he'd been gracious enough to agree to come with him tonight, finding a decent seat was the least he could do.

_Except he really wasn't all **that** gracious about it. _Jim snorted_. And it's not like he's actually **here**._

However, he did notice that a number of his crew members were scattered around the little room; there were Vinci and Shea from Security, standing at the bar. Jim noted that they weren't in uniform – not that this was a problem. He'd be in civilian clothes himself if he hadn't come straight from Beebe's dinner.

But those two – especially Vinci – had always had a tendency toward stirring shit up at bars; Vinci wasn't a big guy, but he was strong, and tough – and had what Bones called a "little man complex" that seemed to make him want to prove himself at every turn. In fact, Jim had originally been introduced to Vinci when the aforementioned gentleman had tried to break a chair over his head in a bar in Riverside – the night before he'd decided to join Starfleet. Shea – well, by himself, he was fine. Put him together with Vinci and alcohol, and... well, sometimes things could happen.

Jim sighed. Having to be "Captain Kirk" and the resident buzz kill even on shore leave kind of sucked – but if it meant keeping his people out of trouble, that's what he'd do.

Then the two men shifted, and he noticed with a flare of relief that Thompson was with them, as well – and that was awesome, because she'd keep them both in line. Not because she was a BAMF – though she totally was – but because she was also absolutely beautiful, and those two idiots Shea and Vinci would fall all over themselves to impress her. And she – thank goodness – was one of those old-school Security types who believed that rules and regulations were there to be followed, with no exceptions.

Funny how that attitude would have bugged the shit out of Jim at the Academy, and now he was unbelievably grateful for it.

_Guess being a captain really has changed me – at least a little._

At the other side of the room, Jim spotted an empty table, and headed in that direction to find a seat. On his way, he ran into another pair of crew members – Ensigns Ghanem and Papagiannopoulos – who were obviously enjoying a romantic evening out, and who looked more than a little freaked out to see their commanding officer heading in their direction.

Jim saw Ghanem start to rise out of his chair to stand at attention, and waved his hands with a laugh.

"No, Ghanem – at ease. We're on shore leave, remember?"

Ghanem eased back into his chair with a somewhat embarrassed smile. "Sure, Captain," he said. "Old habits, though – you know."

"So, Papagiannopoulos – you two having fun tonight?" Jim found himself suppressing a smile; for reasons he'd never quite understood, he seemed to be able to terrify Bones' newest nurse just by virtue of existing, and tonight was no exception. With her huge brown eyes fixed on him, she looked like a deer in the headlights.

"Um, yes, sir?" She looked at Ghanem as if to ascertain whether that had been the right answer.

Now Jim laughed outright. "Not a quiz, Ensign – just curious. How's the music here?"

"Oh, it's excellent, sir." This time, Ghanem sounded much more enthusiastic. "We were over at the club across the way earlier," he said, gesturing in that direction, "but that's a lot more slow stuff. You know – quieter, maybe a little more... elegant?"

"Elegant as you can get on a starbase," Papagiannopoulos interjected – then blushed slightly as she realized she'd actually contributed to the conversation.

"Not into the slow stuff tonight, then, Nazim?"

_See? I do **too** know their first names, Spock. _

There had been an insinuation earlier in the evening that Jim, in fact, did not know most of his crew members' first names – which was a serious underestimation on the part of his First Officer. In fact, if they had first names, Jim knew them. He just didn't go out of his way to use them.

Ghanem grinned. "Not tonight, sir. Maybe we'll get back there later this week before leave is over."

He didn't know what kind of mischief had gotten into him, but Jim suddenly felt the urge to rattle Chrysoula Papagiannopoulos' cage... just a little.  
"So... Chryssie? Do your mom and dad know their good little Greek girl is dating a Turkish boy?"

She actually did a face-palm before answering. "Yes, sir. Yes, they do." This was obviously not a new discussion. "You know, the conflict between the Greeks and the Turks has been over for hundreds of years – so you wouldn't think it'd be a big deal, would you?"

Nazim laughed ruefully. "Only for the Greeks and the Turks – man, they _never_ forget. It's crazy, especially since I'd bet that almost nobody could even tell you what the fight was originally about."

"My papou – my grandfather – he'd be able to tell you. In excruciating detail."

She smiled back up at Jim, then – much more at ease now.

Which had actually been what Jim had been hoping for to begin with.

"Of course, Captain, Papou would be giving me the lecture about _anybody_ I was dating who wasn't Greek – just so happens that Nazim being Turkish was just kind of the icing on the cake for him."

"What part of Greece is your family from, Ensign?" It was always interesting to hear these little details about members of the crew – Jim didn't have the time to get to know them as individuals nearly as well as he'd like.

"That'd be Tarpon Springs, Florida, sir." Chryssie laughed briefly. "Though it might as well be the island of Kalymnos for all that matters – that's where everybody's from, at least originally."

"So... lots of Papagiannopouloses there?" Jim was curious. "Because, gotta tell you, that's a mouthful of a name."

"Yes, sir, it is. But my last name's a lot more common down there than yours, that's for sure. Some of the really 'Greeky-Greeks' – that's what we call them – would call you '_xenos_,' or 'foreigner,' if you came to visit. Doesn't matter that they were born in the United States just like you were." She shook her head, smiling. "It doesn't make sense – but it's how it is."

"That's how hometowns are, Ensign – they don't always make sense, but they're home anyway." Jim clapped Ghanem briefly on the shoulder.

"But don't let me keep you two – I was just on my way to that empty table over there. You both have a lovely rest of your evening."

Ghanem looked supremely uncomfortable. "Um, sir – if you'd like to join us..."

"No, no, no." _Oh, wouldn't __**that **__make for a fun date? Not so much. _ "I'm not drinking alone tonight – Commander Spock is joining me here shortly. So, if you'll excuse me..."

Before the conversation could continue – or before someone could get the table – Jim threaded his way through the occupied tables and took a chair facing the door so that he could see Spock when he arrived. It should have occurred to him to have Spock comm him when he was on his way – but no matter. Wouldn't be that long, anyway.

"Are you really _the_ Captain James Kirk?" Jim started at the voice that purred not far – not far at all – from his left ear. Looking up, he saw that the voice belonged to a very pretty woman – _okay, maybe not a woman – she doesn't look exactly human _– but definitely a female. A female who had now insinuated herself into the other chair at his table.

If he could have, Jim would have laughed at the ludicrousness of this situation – here he was, being approached by a curvaceous and definitely... _interested._.. member of the opposite gender who was not also a member of his crew.

And they were on shore leave.

All of those circumstances ought to have added up to the little voice in his head saying, "Jimmy's gettin' him some tonight."

Instead, it mostly said, "Hey, lady, get outta Spock's chair."

What the hell was going _on_ in his head, anyway?

_Oh, well. No harm in being sociable while I'm waiting for Spock – who could have fucking cataloged the entire **collection** by now, couldn't he?_

"Yes, ma'am, that's me." Probably not a bad idea to actually answer her question – and there wouldn't be any use lying about it, not with the captain's bars on his dress uniform, and the _Enterprise_ being the only Starfleet ship currently docked at the base.

"I'm Treya," she said, leaning closer – so that her exceptional... endowments were on clear display down the very low-cut blouse she wore. "It's... very, _very_ nice to meet you."

_Either this is the easiest girl I've met in a while, or they've started allowing hookers onto starbases..._

"Umm... nice to meet you too, ma'am." Jim shifted uneasily in his chair. "Not to be antisocial, ma'am, but I'm meeting a friend here later, and..."

"Well... _I_ could be a friend, couldn't I?" She batted extraordinarily long lashes at him – and they were an astonishing shade of cobalt blue, much like her hair. "I think I'm _very_ friendly." She gestured to the nearest waitress. "My _friend _and I would like two Cardassian Sunrises."

"Wait," Jim stopped her before she could leave. "One Cardassian Sunrise – I'd like a Bud Classic, please." He turned to smile uncomfortably at... did she say her name was Treya? "Can't be hitting the hard stuff tonight – early morning, and all that."

The next several minutes consisted of Treya essentially throwing herself at Jim – again and again – and of Jim studiously trying to more or less politely ignore her.

_Christ, if Spock doesn't hurry up and get his ass over here, I'm leaving – because this is bullshit._

Then their drinks arrived, and at least that gave her something else to do besides try to climb all over him. Jim nursed his beer – not ever really seeing it, or hearing her constant flirtatious chatter, as he continued to glance distractedly at the door.

Now, without truly having noticed that he'd finished the beer, he was idly spinning the empty bottle on the table.

_Shit, where the hell **is** he, anyway? How long has it been?_

_No matter – I'm out of here. I'll comm Spock and tell him not to come after all; he'll be relieved._

And she hadn't stopped talking – not once. It was all he could do to keep her out of his lap.

"Ummm... ma'am..." Jim heard his voice slurring – and that was ridiculous. He'd had _one beer_.

Hadn't he? He couldn't really remember; his head was suddenly fuzzy, and his thoughts weren't doing what they were supposed to do.

He was getting ready to leave, wasn't he? Jim went to stand up, and ended up grabbing the edge of the table as his legs nearly went out from under him.

That woman – or whatever she was – _her hair... it's __**blue**__!_... was there to wrap him in a surprisingly strong embrace to keep him from falling, and her voice was soft and reassuring in his ear.

"Oh, Jim," she cooed, "all those drinks got to you, didn't they? Don't worry, baby – Treya will take good care of you. You just want to go to bed, don't you?"

_Bed. _

_Yeah, bed. _

_Ship. Go home._ "Wanna... Ennerprise... Pock... isn here..."

"Sure, baby. Let's go back to my place, and we'll make you feel all better."

_Better – that's good. _

_So dizzy... what'd I drink? _ He tried to answer her, but his mouth wouldn't make words anymore, and he found himself leaning heavily against her so that he wouldn't fall.

Now she was talking again, but he couldn't make sense of it – all the sound in the room mashed together into one swirling roar in his ears. It also sounded just a little like the chirp of his communicator – but he wasn't sure. Wasn't sure of anything. But they were walking – or she was, at least. He didn't know whether he was or not.

His last coherent thought was, _Maybe she'll take me back to the ship. I'm really tired._

_...  
_

Spock made his way through the starbase, a niggling feeling of guilt at the back of his mind. He had spent far longer with Commander Nghiem than he had originally anticipated – what he had planned as a visit of only a few minutes stretched into nearly an hour – and he knew that Jim would have been awaiting his arrival for quite some time now.

He pulled out his communicator to send a message to Jim – and was somewhat surprised when Jim did not respond. So he tried again – and once again – with no better success.

Although it was nearly inconceivable that Jim could have met with any misfortune in the time they had been apart, Spock found himself becoming increasingly concerned. It was simply not like Jim not to answer. The club was not far away now – Spock could hear the music from where he stood – and he found himself picking up his pace considerably.

..."Come on, baby. That's right – Treya's got you. I'll take you to my place, baby, and make it all better."

Spock stopped in shock as he started to enter the club, only to see an obviously inebriated Jim draped over a... female... whose goals were... equally obvious.

He unexpectedly found himself fighting a rising anger and disgust – _and, yes, possibly jealousy_. Could Jim not have waited even this long without...

That line of thought brought Spock to a sudden clear realization; Jim had not been here remotely long enough to achieve this degree of intoxication. For that matter, Spock realized that he had never actually seen Jim incapacitated to this extent by alcohol. Spock strode quickly up to the blue-haired being that was holding up his captain.

"Excuse me, madam, but do you require any assistance?" He struggled to keep his tone polite as possible, while also trying to ascertain what had happened.

The... creature holding Jim smiled sweetly up at him. "Oh, no, we're fine. My boyfriend here's just had waaaay too much to drink – we've been here together most of the night." She patted Jim's cheek – Spock was alarmed to note that Jim seemed to be barely conscious and completely unaware of his surroundings – before she went on. "Time to get you back home to bed, isn't it, sweetheart?"

She hadn't so much as taken a step away before a hand closed, vise-like, around her arm. "No, madam, it is not. Captain Kirk is not, as you state, your 'boyfriend,' nor has he been here for most of the night. I myself left his company less than an hour ago."

He pulled an unresisting Jim from her grasp. "You will explain yourself, please. Immediately."

At that moment, Jim went entirely limp – and Spock had to scramble to catch him and keep him upright. When he looked up again, the female was gone.

Now – belatedly – Spock caught sight of three of their Security staff at the bar nearby.

"Thompson!" He shouted across the room – if any of them had been paying attention at all, it would have been Lt. Thompson. "Do you see her – the woman who was just here with the captain?"

After a brief scan of the room, she shook her head in a quick negative. She then spoke animatedly to her two colleagues, who – after an alarmed glance at a grim-faced Commander Spock holding on to their obviously incapacitated captain – promptly split up and took off in three different directions.

Spock turned his attention to Jim – whom he had clutched tightly to his chest with one arm under Jim's own, Jim's head resting heavily against Spock's shoulder.

"Captain." He spoke quietly but urgently into Jim's ear. "Captain, can you hear me?"

No response.

"Jim." Spock shook him, very slightly, raising his voice. "_Jim_, answer me."

Still nothing. Spock fought down a sudden spike of what he had to acknowledge was pure fear.

With his free hand, he grabbed his communicator. "Spock to Transporter room – two to beam directly to Sickbay. Please also contact Doctor McCoy; tell him that something has happened to Captain Kirk, and his immediate assistance is required."

After getting a rather startled acknowledgment from whomever was manning the transporters this evening – Spock had no idea who it was, nor did he care – he put away his communicator, and put his other arm around Jim as well. It was with enormous relief that he felt the sensation of the energy of the transporter returning them both to the Enterprise.

Only a few of the Medical crew were still in Sickbay this evening – and they were temporarily slack-jawed with surprise at the sight of Commander Spock suddenly appearing in their midst with an unconscious Captain Kirk in his arms. However, they weren't Starfleet Medical for nothing, and their surprise was short-lived. They almost immediately jumped into action and tried to put Kirk onto a biobed – though Spock wouldn't let go of him, wordlessly insisting on depositing the captain onto the bed himself.

Sankara – the head medic on duty that night – had to work around Spock while taking the captain's vitals with his tricorder; Spock himself would not let go of Kirk's wrist, and stood staring silently down at the still figure on the bed, immovable from Kirk's side.

They'd actually only been in Sickbay for a minute or two when McCoy himself stormed into the room, a worried-looking Uhura following in his wake.

"Spock." When he got no reply, the doctor reached over and shook him impatiently by the shoulder. "Dammit, Spock – I need you to tell me what the _hell _is going on here."

Without ever letting go of Jim's wrist, Spock recounted what had happened – how long Jim had been at the club, what he had looked like when Spock arrived, how his condition had changed since – in a voice that was flat and expressionless, even for him.

McCoy stopped his examination of Jim for a moment to look hard at Spock, concern and then sudden understanding flaring in his eyes.

"Wasn't your fault, Spock," he said simply, returning his attention to Jim.

"Doctor." Spock sounded... terrible. "Had I been present, whoever did... _this_ to Jim would not have been able to do so. You know that as well as I do."

"Here's the thing, Spock." McCoy's tone was almost conversational, though he continued to monitor Jim with meticulous care. "I had to tell myself long ago that I wasn't going to be able to protect this silly bastard from all the shit he seems to attract. Yeah, I can try – which you know I always do – and I make good and goddamn sure I'm there to put the pieces back together whenever I get him back. But – with Jim, if it's gonna happen, it happens, Spock. You can't blame yourself. You know that's the last thing he'd want you to do, anyway."

He straightened up, putting the tricorder back onto a nearby table.

"And the good news right now is that this seems to be pretty straightforward; somebody slipped enough impedranyl – which is one hell of a potent sedative, among other things – into Jim's drink to knock out a horse, but the dosage itself isn't toxic. It's just gonna be a matter of the time it'll take to get it out of his system – and that could be anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on how he metabolizes it." He patted Jim's shoulder absently. "There's never any telling with this idiot."

"But, Doctor – is there something you can give him to reverse the effects?" Spock had almost sagged with relief at the news that Jim would recover.

"Not that his system will tolerate, no. Like I said – Jim'll pretty much just have to wear it out. But the question now is this – who did this, and for what reason? Do you have any theories on that front, Spock?"

"Not at this time, Doctor – though there were several members of our Security staff present who are investigating this... event even now."

"_Our_ security?" McCoy sounded shocked, and more than a little irate. "And they were gonna stand by and let this... _whatever she was..._ leave with Jim? In this condition?"

Spock stopped suddenly, realizing that this had not occurred to him at all – he had been so concerned about Jim's immediate welfare that he had not stopped to think of all the attendant circumstances. However, he realized now that it really was extraordinary that _Enterprise_ security – even off-duty – could possibly be so lax.

Extraordinary – and utterly unacceptable. Had Spock not just happened to show up at that precise moment, Jim would have been gone – drugged, _abducted_ – without anyone knowing where he was, or with whom.

Spock clamped down on another surge of sick fear that rose in his chest; such emotions were not only not Vulcan, but they were utterly useless in this situation.

And, thankfully, unnecessary. Because for now, at least, Jim was safe on board the _Enterprise_, and would recover fully.

There was a gentle hand on Spock's shoulder. "He'll be all right." Nyota's voice was quiet and reassuring. "You heard Len – and you know he'd never lie to you."

He heard her voice, though his eyes never left Jim's face. "Yes, Nyota," he replied quietly, "I know that Dr. McCoy's prognosis is certainly trustworthy." He paused – Nyota was his friend, and would understand this in a way that most people would not. "But... Jim had wanted me to accompany him; if I had not insisted on remaining behind –"

"No... no... won' go with you." Jim had suddenly roused – at least a bit – and was ineffectually trying to pull his arm out of Spock's grip. "Gotta stay here. Or... to the ship. Put me down – not gonna go with you." He was still obviously unaware of his surroundings, and was becoming increasingly agitated.

Spock bent close to reassure him. "Jim. You must calm yourself, now – you are back on the _Enterprise_, and everything will be all right."

"Spock?" Jim did calm down slightly at the sound of a familiar voice. "Izzat you?"

"Yes, Jim." He had to work to keep the sigh of relief out of his voice. "I am right here."

"I was tryin' to wait for you, Spock, but... the room started goin' in circles and I... I couldn't stand up anymore. Did you see it do that, Spock?"  
Jim was working hard to get his eyes to focus on Spock's face, and obviously not having a great deal of success. "Doin' it again," he muttered, closing his eyes tightly against a new wave of dizziness.

"In fact, Jim, someone had drugged your drink at the club – what you felt then, what you are experiencing now, is a result of that." He gripped the wrist he still held just a bit more tightly. "But Dr. McCoy says that once the sedative is out of your system, you will be fine again."

"Bones?"

"Right here, Jim."

"Shit, Bones... I fucked up your date." Jim, eyes still squeezed tightly closed, sounded as though he were about to cry. "I'm really sorry."

"Idiot – it wasn't your fault." He reached down to fondly ruffle Jim's hair. "Not this time, at least."

"Is Nyota gonna kick my ass?"

She stepped to the side of his bed, taking one of Len's hands in her own and smiling up at him before answering Jim.

"Not tonight, Captain," she assured him, leaning forward to drop a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'll wait until sometime when you deserve it... and _then_ I'll kick your ass."

"'Kay, Nyota." Jim subsided for a moment before his face crumpled in discomfort again.

"Bones," he said, a sudden urgency to his voice, "gonna..."

McCoy knew from long years of experience with Jim just exactly what was about to happen – he grabbed a basin and held it near Jim's head, yanking him quickly onto his side so that he could vomit without choking or getting any of it on himself. When it was clear that he'd finished, Bones helped him to lie back down again, and went to empty the basin.

"Jim," Spock said quietly, "would you like some water to drink, or to rinse your mouth?" He knew that after involuntarily emptying his stomach, he himself had a hard time dealing with the residual taste in his mouth.

"I could drink some. Thanks." Jim had subsided back onto the pillow, pale and perspiring slightly.

Spock reached over to a bedside table where there was not only a pitcher of water with ice, but an empty glass and some straws. Quickly, he poured a small glass of water and moved back to Jim, supporting him as he sat up slightly to drink from the straw.

"That was gross." Jim sounded miserable. "Sorry I puked in front of you guys."

"Not like you had much control over that, Jim." McCoy came back into the room. "And for once, that might have been good for you – help you get the drugs out of your body. We'll have to see."

"God, Bones – how long do I have to stay here?" Jim was starting to sound groggy again, as though he were struggling to stay awake. "You know how much I... hate bein' stuck in... in these damn beds."

"Well, you can't go back to your own quarters at this stage of the game, Jim. Not by yourself – you don't have much back in the way of motor control yet, and you'll likely be in and out of consciousness for the next few hours, at least. You know how you get, Jim; you'll have to have somebody around just in case you need help and aren't in any shape to call." The doctor paused, considering. "So... well, maybe a day? We'll have to play it by ear."

McCoy felt a gentle elbow in his ribs as he was speaking, and looked down to see Nyota looking very... _meaningfully_ at him. He couldn't figure out quite what she was up to... but then she looked toward Spock (who was now holding onto Jim's arm yet again) and back at him again, as if to say... "Well?"

_Ah-ha. _

"Except," McCoy continued, "there might be a way around that, if you're willing, Spock."

He looked up with alacrity. "I will do anything I can, Doctor."

"Do you think you'd be able to stay with Jim in his quarters until he's coherent and able to be up and around on his own?"

Considering that Spock had at that very moment been entertaining the idea of remaining at Jim's side for the remainder of his stay in Sickbay, he found McCoy's idea to be an excellent one.

"That would seem to be an optimal solution to this situation, Doctor, and I would be glad to do so."

"Spock." Jim's voice was a raspy whisper. "You don't have to, really."

"I am aware of this, Jim. But I wish to."

...

"You'll wanna get out of that dress uniform, Spock." McCoy's voice held an undercurrent of affection as he looked down at where Jim was currently sleeping. "Believe me when I tell you that a night of Jim-wrangling can be tougher than you might anticipate."

Between McCoy and Spock – with some limited help from the patient himself – they had managed to get Jim back to his own quarters. Spock had stood to one side, feeling somewhat awkward, as the doctor had skillfully – if not always gently – guided a pliant and semi-coherent Jim out of his uniform and into a t-shirt and pajama pants before putting him into his own bed. It was clear that, for whatever reason, McCoy had a lot of practice in dealing with Jim in this condition.

Almost as though he'd been privy to Spock's thought processes, McCoy went on. "I've had to do this a lot for him – especially after he's been under a general for surgery or whatnot. That whole class of meds has – surprise, surprise – an unusual effect on him. Takes him longer than most people to really wake up fully, and in the meantime, he can get... I guess _agitated_ would be a good word."

He reached down to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle in Jim's blanket. "Jim _hates_ not having control – you know that as well as I do – and being out of control of his mind and body... well, that's just about the worst for him. That's why he just can't stand being in Sickbay at times like these; being out of it and vulnerable in front of his crew... it's hard on him. Especially when he gets confused or upset, or has one of his nightmares – those are tough."

He looked up to make eye contact before continuing. "And you, Spock, will be in the unenviable position of calming him down if and when that takes place. Which," he gestured toward Spock's quarters on the other side of the bathroom he shared with Jim, "means you'll want comfortable clothes. So," he said, making shooing motions with his hands, "you go put on your hobgoblin jammies, and I'll stay here with Jim until you come back."

Spock had come close to replying that he most certainly did not own "hobgoblin jammies," but reasoned that such a response would be useless and counterproductive. Instead, he gave McCoy a withering look before turning silently to go into his own quarters, where he changed into... well, into the clothing in which he normally slept.

But which were emphatically _not_ hobgoblin jammies.

When McCoy had finally left, Spock settled himself into a chair near Jim's bed. McCoy had explained what to expect – that Jim might appear to awaken without awareness of his surroundings and be confused, or that he may appear to have traumatic dreams in the course of the night. Under those circumstances, Spock was to attempt to reassure him and help him realize that he was safe and well on board the Enterprise.

Spock was not to be alarmed if Jim could not be roused at times – because that was to be expected – but that he should be especially vigilant during those times in case Jim became nauseated again; it would then be up to him to make sure that Jim was not in a position to choke if he needed to vomit.

"The only really dangerous thing that could happen – and it never has, but I'm warning you just in case – is if somehow Jim ended up going so far under at some point that it interfered with his ability to breathe on his own."

At that point, McCoy had turned to leave the room. "Like I said, it's never happened – and if it were gonna happen tonight, it likely already would have when you first brought him back on board, and not now when he's had a chance to get it out of his system for a while. But just be aware of his respiratory rate – if he drops below, oh, ten breaths a minute for more than a couple of minutes, you should call me right away. Got all that, Spock? Hell, of course you do," McCoy had muttered. "You probably remember every goddamn word I've ever said to you."

"Unfortunately, Doctor, you are entirely correct."

Spock had given him what Jim called the "Eyebrow of Death," but wasn't completely surprised when McCoy reacted by laughing as he let Jim's door slide shut behind him on his way out. Although the two of them interacted mostly by sniping at one another, Spock had a great deal of respect for the doctor – and he was aware that McCoy thought very highly of him as well, despite his disparaging comments.

He would never have trusted Spock with the care of anything so precious to him as Jim otherwise, he realized, settling back into the chair and beginning his close observation of his sleeping captain.

Jim had remained motionless for nearly 0.684 hours when he began to stir – although, Spock observed, not to awaken. He was muttering... something, but Spock could not make sense of it, even as he leaned closer to listen. Then Jim began to struggle ineffectually against his blankets, his words, now coherent, rising into a protest.

"No – lemme _go_, dammit. Get your hands off of me – I swear I'll kill you." He was breathing hard, obviously in distress, as Spock quickly reviewed his mental list of things he must do to calm Jim.

And wondered whom Jim thought he was fighting...

"Jim." He kept his own voice calm, but authoritative. "Jim, open your eyes now. All is well, Jim – you are on board the Enterprise, and you are safe." Jim froze then – and did open his eyes to see Spock.

"Spock... where...?"

"We are in your quarters, Jim. You expressed a desire to be out of Sickbay, and we agreed that I would remain here with you until such a time as you were able to be on your own."

McCoy had warned him that, among other side effects, the impedranyl would have an effect on Jim's short-term memory – that, in fact, he might have little or no recollection of the evening at all once he had fully recovered.

"You'll have to tell him the same thing ten times – but don't let it freak you out, Spock," had been the doctor's sage, if oddly worded, advice.

"Sickbay? Why was I in Sickbay, Spock?" Jim seemed a little more lucid now, and was struggling to sit up. Rather than force him to lie down again, Spock guessed that it would be less stressful for Jim if he helped support him as he sat up instead – and Jim did seem more at ease as he leaned against Spock's arm bracing his back. "I don't remember anything after I got to the club..."

Jim suddenly tensed again, eyes wide with concern as he looked at Spock's face. "But, Spock, honest to God – I didn't get drunk. I swear I didn't."

"I know that you did not, Jim." He felt Jim relax somewhat at this reassurance. "Instead, you were accosted at the club by an unknown... being who drugged your drink."

Jim paused, obviously thinking hard. "Yeah. She had... blue hair?"

Spock was somewhat surprised that he remembered even that much. "Indeed she did, Jim – I saw her myself as she was attempting to... to leave the club with you." He did not know how long it would take before he had to stop suppressing a shudder at the thought of how close he had come to losing – literally _losing _– Jim.

"She... she was going to... oh, shit, Spock –" Jim broke off suddenly, and fortunately Spock had both the understanding and the reflexes to quickly grab the basin and hold it in front of Jim as he emptied the contents of his stomach yet again. He kept one arm securely around Jim's back, holding him steady until he was sure Jim had finished.

"Thanks... sorry, Spock," Jim said, dropping back down into his pillow again as Spock had taken the basin into their bathroom to clean it. "I know that's disgusting."

"It is no such thing, Jim," Spock said, returning with a glass of water. "It is," he said, holding the glass to Jim's lips, "a completely normal reaction to what your body has had to tolerate this evening, and is to be expected under the circumstances."

Jim actually laughed then – though it was obviously forced. "To be expected? I don't know about you, but I didn't expect any of this." He raised himself up on his elbows again before sitting up again in bed. "So, let me get this straight – that psycho blue-haired bitch was about to take me out of the club?"

Spock's only answer was a small, tight nod.

"Where the fuck did _that _come from, d'you suppose? And... why me and not somebody else?" Jim looked exhausted, and more than a little confused.

"My theory, Jim, is that... perhaps this individual wished to kidnap you because of your fame and position in Starfleet. She may have believed that she could hold you for ransom, or... something else. At this point, it is only a theory."

"They... Oh, God... they were gonna take me, Spock – don't let them take me." Jim's voice sounded more distant – and Spock looked quickly down to Jim looking disoriented and upset again, even... _frightened,_ perhaps. He had never seen such a look on Jim's face, and wished to do whatever he could to make it go away.

"Jim. I will not leave your side – and I will let no harm come to you. You have my word." Although Jim was already sitting up on his own, Spock returned his arm to its previous position around Jim's back – and was somewhat shocked when, instead of pulling away, Jim leaned into his chest with his head on Spock's shoulder.

"Won't go?" Jim's voice was muffled against Spock's shirt.

"I absolutely will not, Jim. But you must attempt to sleep now; you will feel better for having done so." Spock gently moved Jim out of the circle of his arm and back down toward his own bed – briefly surprised at the reluctance he had felt while doing so.

"No – don't wanna sleep... can't sleep. Bad things. When I sleep – bad. They don't go away." Now Jim was becoming increasingly disoriented - and visibly more upset - as he struggled to sit up again. "They try to take me, Spock – they know where I am. And if they know where I am, then they're gonna know where the kids are – and they can't find the kids. I can't let them find the kids, Spock."

Spock listened to Jim with a growing alarm – he had no idea what Jim was talking about, and so had no idea what to say in return to reassure him.

"Jim, no." He tried to cut through whatever was holding onto Jim's mind at that moment. "No. They will not find you, nor will they take you. I am right here, and I will allow no harm to come to you."

Urgently, Jim seized the front of his shirt. "Or the kids, Spock? 'Cause somebody's gotta make sure the kids are okay – and I can't get back to them without being followed. You know that."

Jim was looking right at him, but Spock had the odd sensation that he was seeing something else entirely; _probably best not to argue with Jim at this time_, he reasoned.

"No harm will come to the children either, Jim. I will see to it. But you must rest."

Now he was trying to fight off even Spock's gently restraining grasp. "Can't – don't you see..."

After brief contemplation, Spock did what he thought he would never do; guiding Jim firmly down onto the bed, he then lay down next to him, tucking Jim firmly against the side of his body and wrapping one arm around him tightly. Even that gesture seemed to calm Jim somewhat – but his mind was still obviously profoundly uneasy.

It was another of McCoy's phrases – "desperate times call for desperate measures" – that echoed in his head as Spock lifted three fingers to Jim's face and murmured the ancient chant.

"My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

It would only be – could only be – the most superficial of melds, Spock knew, or else he could never justify it, even in his own mind. Just enough to anchor Jim to reality again, and to calm him enough so that he could sleep.

Tentatively, he sent tendrils of thought into Jim's mind...

… and heard himself gasping as he was stricken with pure, visceral _terror_ from Jim. Drawn in – much farther than he'd intended or wanted – by the completely unexpected force that was Jim's mind, Spock saw now what Jim himself was seeing.

These were no hallucinations caused by medication. These were _memories _– solid, real, and horrifying. Fleeting impressions of mangled corpses, skeletal children, hunger, illness, death – and hiding. Always hiding. One step ahead of the soldiers – the soldiers who, if they caught them, would kill them all. Bone-deep worry, and sadness – because the kids... they just kept dying. More and more of them. There wasn't medicine enough, or food. And Jim didn't know how to fix it – and they were counting on him, looking to him to fix it. Fix it.

With a shudder, Spock pulled himself slightly away – realizing on some level that he had experienced all of this with Jim in the briefest of instants. Realizing, too, now, that his captain – the bravest man he had ever known, but who now lay trembling against him – had, as a young boy, survived the famine, the terror, the slaughter that was still only referred to in whispers, over a decade later.

_Tarsus IV._ His arms tightened reflexively around the warm body pressed against his own. _Oh, Jim._

But this was not a time to lament Jim's past; he needed Spock's help, and needed it now. With a deep breath – and knowing, now, what he would be going into – he reentered Jim's tumultuous thoughts.

_Jim. Come back, Jim – you are lost in the past, and must come back now. It is over, Jim – over. You are safe, now._

_Spock... _

Slowly, gradually, he felt Jim's roiling thoughts begin to calm - he could almost feel Jim's mind holding onto him for reassurance - as he pulled free from the grip of his memories and returned to himself.

_Spock – holy shit, are you in my head with me? It feels like you're in my head with me._

_In a manner of speaking, Jim – you were very upset, and I initiated a superficial mind meld to help you calm yourself._

_Wow. That's amazing, Spock._

"Amazing" did not begin to describe the exchange they were currently experiencing - though Jim would have had no way of knowing that._  
_

_You, too, Jim, are rather "amazing;" I must tell you that I have never known of a human who was capable of actually conversing through a meld. _

Spock felt a surge of affectionate warmth in Jim's thoughts. _I keep telling you I'm extraordinary. When are you finally going to believe me?_

_I have always believed you, Jim. But now that you are better, it is probably best for me to end our contact and let you rest._

_No – can't you stay? It feels good to have you here._

Spock was not entirely sure, but he believed that the surge of warm affection came from his own thoughts this time.

_I am not far away, Jim._ He tightened his arm around Jim's waist for emphasis. _And I will not leave you. But for now..._

With more difficulty than he usually experienced, Spock terminated the meld – and found himself looking down into Jim's vivid blue eyes, which just now were wide with wonder.

"How the hell did we _do_ that, Spock?" Jim's voice was an awed whisper.

Without thinking, Spock pulled him closer. "I am not entirely sure, to be honest. It seems, Jim, that we are both exceptional – or, at least, that we are exceptional when we work together." He settled himself more comfortably into the bed, pulling Jim along with him. "But for now, I must insist that you at least try to sleep. I will remain right here, and will not leave. You have my word."

"All right, Spock – if you say so. Gotta tell you, I'm pretty tired. Been a rough night..." With that, Spock felt Jim's body go slack against him as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Jim's rest had, fortunately, remained peaceful and undisturbed after that; he had barely moved at all, only shifting once or twice – first to throw one of his legs across Spock's, and then to grip Spock's hand in his own, pulling their joined hands against his chest before settling down again. Spock, suddenly tense, hardly knew how to react to this – but finally, deciding that Jim's self-soothing gesture did no one any harm, relaxed once more.

He reached down with his free hand to move Jim's head into a more comfortable position for them both – then found that this hand, almost of its own volition, stayed where it was afterward to stroke Jim's thick, surprisingly soft hair. This also did no one any harm – and since it made Jim smile in his sleep, Spock saw no reason to stop.

...

It was 3.46 hours later – approximately – when Spock's communicator chirped from the bedside table next to them. At first, he had been alarmed that the sound would awaken Jim – but he did not move, and the quickest of glimpses into his mind assured Spock that he remained deeply asleep.

Spock gently removed his hand from Jim's grasp, reaching over to pick up the communicator. As the message was from Lieutenant Commander Giotto, the Enterprise's head of security, he felt compelled to answer.

"Yes – Spock here. Mr. Giotto, what has your team found?"

Even though there was no video link, he could easily imagine the look of impatience on Giotto's face. "Not a damn thing worth mentioning, sir. We sent people out after the girl – but it was like she just vanished. And what's more, until tonight, nobody had ever seen her before. Not _anybody_ – and since it's been two days since the last ship docked here, that doesn't make any sense, sir."

"Has your team returned to the ship, Mr. Giotto?" Because there was one crew member in particular with whom Spock wanted to have words.

"They have, sir – the three who were in the club at the time are here with me now." There was a pause. "And... Mr. Spock – if you're thinking what I suspect you are – that this kind of breach of security is an embarrassment and damn near criminal – then allow me to say that I agree with you wholeheartedly, sir. It's unacceptable – inexcusable."

"Oddly, Mr. Giotto, you have used the very words that I found best described this... situation." Only the soft warmth of Jim pressed against his side kept the cold knot from rising again into his throat. "However, I have a very specific question. Ensign Thompson, I know, was facing away from the table where the captain and his attacker were seated. I would like to know which of her colleagues were facing toward the table as this unfolded."

"That would be me, Commander Spock – Rick Vinci, sir."

Vinci – which had been Spock's suspicion all along. He had known Jim since their Academy days, and had never liked him. Of course, there had been many – many – cadets who fit that description, but for the most part, once they had served under Jim for even a short while, they changed their minds. Vinci, it seemed, had not.

"And, Ensign Vinci – could you please describe for me what you saw this evening in the club?"

"Well, sir, I wasn't watching all that closely for most of the evening – though the captain wasn't there long, if I'm correct. But not long after he arrived, he was joined by the female – and she was acting like... well, sir, like most other women act around Captain Kirk. Like she couldn't take her eyes – or her hands – off him."

"Did he seem to... encourage her actions?"

"Not at all, sir. He was pretty much ignoring her – which I noticed because I thought it was kind of funny. Sir. But Captain Kirk was really distracted – kept looking toward the door, like he was waiting for someone else to show up."

Something squeezed painfully in the vicinity of Spock's trachea. "And as they left, Ensign?"

"He seemed really drunk, sir. I was a little surprised because he'd only had one beer – but I figured he'd probably been drinking somewhere else beforehand." There was a long pause. "I should have known better, sir; I've seen Kirk – the captain – drunk, and I've seen him leave a bar with his arm around a pretty girl. But I've never seen him like that – and not at all once he became captain. I was stupid, sir, and it was wrong – and I regret it more than I can tell you."

"You should have known better." Spock's voice was glacial. "_You should have known better._ Ensign, do you realize that your schoolboy grudge against a former Academy classmate could have cost our captain his _life_?"

The pause now was even longer – had he been so inclined, Spock could probably have visualized the stunned expressions of the Security crew, most of whom had, until now, never heard him speak in anger.

It was Giotto's voice that came over the comm. "Sir, believe me when I tell you that the _gravity_ of the situation has been made clear to Ensign Vinci. And will continue to be made clear. As it will to Ensigns Shea and Thompson, who have some share in this shocking security breach, as well." Spock could hear him sigh. "All I can do for now, sir, is to continue the investigation – and to offer my heartfelt apologies for... for what happened to the captain. Is..." he hesitated. "Is he well, sir?"

Spock let out a breath that he had not realized he was holding. "He will be, Mr. Giotto." He looked down at Jim's peaceful face, tucked into the curve of his shoulder. "Thankfully, there was no lasting harm done in this case."

But for now – all at once – he no longer wished to speak to any of them. "You will continue to keep me apprised as to the progress of the investigation, in conjunction with starbase security, Mr. Giotto – and you will brief Commodore Beebe at the earliest possible opportunity. Spock out."

Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call – then, contemplating his communicator, switched it off. If anyone really needed to reach him, they knew where he was.

Spock was unused to the emotional turmoil that had been so pervasive tonight, and it was unnerving. Anger, fear – and many other emotions that did not require further examination, at least not now – were causing him to feel tense and uneasy.

Meditation would be out of the question tonight – even if it were possible, which Spock found highly unlikely, he needed to have his full attention focused on Jim's welfare. So instead, he cobbled together an odd sort of Jim-centered meditation, pulling his captain's hand to his chest again and closing his eyes, counting Jim's quiet breaths throughout the night.

...

Much later, he felt Jim's mind stirring to wakefulness, and before long, the bright blue eyes were focused on him again – clearly, this time.

"So... I didn't dream this? Wow – I'd have sworn I dreamed it." Jim shook his head briefly – then noticed that he was holding Spock's hand in his own... and dropped it as if it were on fire.

"Damn. Spock. Sorry." Jim seemed almost as agitated as he had the night before.

"Jim. No apology is necessary. You cannot be held accountable for your actions while you are sleeping – and because you were in fact in a very deep sleep for most of the night, there was not an issue of thought transferral. As you would say, Jim, no harm, no foul."

Jim did not need to know that, in a desperate attempt to regain his emotional equilibrium – and to rid himself of the dread that continued to chill him at the disaster that had just barely been averted – he had, in fact, spent the night doing the Vulcan equivalent of... kissing Jim. Not passionately, but definitely repeatedly, and for hours as their hands had remained clasped warmly together.

That, Spock determined, was not information that the captain required.

"So," Jim was tentatively untangling himself from Spock and attempting to leave the bed. "Help me put this all together, will you? Here's what I've got – in bits and pieces. Some of it I remember myself - some of it I heard you telling Bones, I think. I was at the bar. Somebody decided to spike my drink and try to get me out of the bar without anybody thinking anything was wrong. You showed up in the nick of time and got me back here, where Bones patched me up and sent you to baby-sit me for the night. That about it?"

The doctor was sadly mistaken if he thought Jim's memory would be permanently affected by his misadventure with the drug in his drink.

"That is essentially correct – yes."

Now Jim was standing – without difficulty this time – and watching Spock with serious eyes as he, too, rose from the bed.

"There was more, wasn't there." It was not a question.

"I am not certain what you mean, Jim." Though of course he was.

"We _melded_ last night, Spock. You can't expect me to have forgotten that."

Perhaps not – but he had certainly hoped for it. "Jim. I am deeply sorry for the invasion of your –"

Jim waved off his words with an impatient sweep of his hands. "No, no, no – it's not that. Well... it kinda is, I suppose – but I know you'd never have done it if you thought you'd had any other choice. I know I was in... pretty bad shape last night. But..."

Jim looked briefly up at Spock – who nearly flinched at the raw pain and utter vulnerability he saw in those vivid eyes – before turning away again. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible even to Spock's sensitive hearing.

"I know what you saw, Spock."

Instinctively, Spock knew that pity would crush Jim now – compassion would destroy him. He put on his best Science Officer voice as he replied.

"Indeed, Jim. I saw portions of your experiences as a child on Tarsus IV."

At first, Jim's head snapped back as though Spock had hit him in the face. Then he stood perfectly still for a long moment, bent over slightly at the waist with his hands braced on his knees, breathing hard. Finally, he straightened up again and turned to face Spock.

"Damn. Almost fourteen years I've managed not to have someone say that to me – who'd have thought it would hit so hard just to _hear_ it?"

"I would imagine that any reminder of it at all would be exceedingly traumatic, Jim, regardless of how much time has passed."

Jim laughed humorlessly. "Exceedingly traumatic. As always, Mr. Spock, your choice of words is flawless."

Now he simply stood wordlessly in front of Spock, as if he were waiting for him to react somehow. Spock was reminded forcefully of the expression he had seen on Cadet James Kirk's face in front of the Academy – the look that challenged him to bring his worst.

But there was more, and now Spock knew Jim well enough to know it. There was fear, there, too – though it was hard to say why.

Realization dawned suddenly. "You believe that what I saw in your memories has changed my opinion of you."

Jim nodded briefly, struggling to keep his stoic expression. "How could it not?"

"And this is why you have never told anyone – and how you would have managed to keep it out of your Starfleet files." _Fascinating._

"Of course it has changed my opinion of you, Jim." The proud stance crumpled – but just barely, and just for a moment.

"Jim. I had always thought you to be _one_ of the most brave and resilient _humans_ of my acquaintance. Now, knowing what you have had to overcome – what you continue to overcome - I believe that you are quite simply the bravest and most resilient being I have ever known."

He hoped his sincerity was evident in his voice, his expression – he had always tried so hard _not_ to make his feelings obvious that trying to do the opposite was nearly impossible. " I have long held you in the highest esteem and admiration, Jim; if possible, I can only admire you more now."

Jim continued to stand there, a look of disdainful disbelief on his face. But the longer Spock simply stood and calmly returned his gaze – because he was absolutely sure that he had run out of words – the more uncertain Jim became.

Finally, he took a tentative step forward. "You really mean that?" He looked as though he hesitated to believe that – but wanted to very badly indeed.

"I most certainly would never have said it had I not meant it, Jim."

Jim's legs seemed to go out from under him as he collapsed into a nearby chair – but his eyes never left Spock's.

"I still don't want to talk about it. Not ever."

"That is certainly understandable. You need never mention it again unless you wish to; I think you already know that I will not share this... knowledge with anyone."

Even so, Jim could not seem to let the topic drop – not yet, at least. "You really don't think I'm some kind of a monster?"

Spock could barely contain his astonishment. "_You_, Jim? Your conduct was the farthest thing from monstrous; obviously, you had to do many things that you found... repugnant during those months, but you did them for the noblest of possible reasons."

He paused to collect himself. "You were not the monster, Jim."

"Wasn't too effective, either, though – out of thirty kids, I only managed to keep twelve of them alive." He brought his fist down hard on his desk. "Dammit - I'd have died a hundred times, Spock, to keep any one of them alive – but they died... and I lived."

"I am reasonably certain, Jim, that I understand that feeling."

Six _billion_ Vulcans dead – his mother dead – and yet he lived. Yes, he understood Jim quite well.

Jim looked up at Spock in surprise. "Of course you do – it never occurred to me to even begin to compare our experiences, because your loss was so much the greater – but of _course_ you get it. You get it like nobody else, don't you?"

A long, comfortable silence had settled in the room as they each began to process this new... _understanding_ between them. Then, abruptly, Jim rose from his chair – suddenly looking more like himself than he had since Spock had left him at Commodore Beebe's.

"Guess we better call Bones and tell him I survived the night, right? He'll be clucking like a mother hen until we do, you know." Spock was relieved to see that Jim was almost – _almost_ – smiling again.

"If you do not mind, Jim, I will leave it to you to notify the doctor of your progress; I am certain he would rather hear about your condition from yourself than from me."

Spock moved toward his own quarters. "But if you think you will be all right on your own now, I will leave you; I have... ship's business to which to attend."

"You mean you want to tear Vinci out a new asshole in person." Now Jim really did smile. "Leave it, Spock – you came down hard enough on him last night."

Spock stopped in his tracks.

"How... how can you possibly know that?" Because Jim had most certainly not been feigning sleep last night during his conversation with Security, and Spock knew it.

"It's a knack I have, Spock. Don't know how I picked it up – but it's one of my long list of bizarre but useful talents." He patted his astonished first officer on the shoulder. "You should know by now that you underestimate me at your peril."

Jim gave Spock a good-natured shove toward the door. "Go and do whatever you need to – but seriously, lay off the Security guys. Vinci's a little bit of an asshole, but he's essentially a good guy. I promise you he's coming down pretty hard on himself today." He snickered. "And Giotto's probably making him wish he'd never been born."

Spock could not argue with that. With the briefest of shrugs, he opened the door to leave.

"Spock, wait." Jim was looking very uncomfortable – and very sincere.

"Yes, Jim?"

"Just... just thanks. For getting me out of that mess, for taking care of me, for staying the night, for... all of it. You know."

"I do know, Jim. Please know that I was glad to do whatever I could, and am gratified that I could be of help."

Jim looked over his shoulder with a smile - an honest, genuine Jim Kirk smile - as he went to his vid screen to comm McCoy.

"You were of help, all right, Spock. But then again, you usually are."

* * *

**_Now. If I'm to have done all this writing, I think it's only fair that you review – don't you?  
_**


	18. Around the Campfire

_**First** – holy crap, everybody. I've never gotten 50 reviews for a chapter, and never anticipated it, either. (And yes, I know that some of you get 50 reviews just over a lunch break – glaring meaningfully across the Atlantic – but not me.) So thank you. Really._

_Y'all blew me right out of the water with that – so cookies to all of you, as well as your very own set of hobgoblin jammies. (I wish I were an artist, because I'd love a picture of those.)_

_**Second **– apologies for the 3-week update time. I've been out of town for rather a while and simply haven't had time to get much done. I'll try to do better before school starts up again – promise. :-)_

* * *

**Friendship is a sheltering tree.**

**_~Samuel Coleridge_**

* * *

Jim Kirk was used to being treated like a loose cannon.

Or an idiot.

Or a maniac.

Or a sex god.

(That last one? Didn't mind that one a bit, to tell the truth.)

He was _not_, however, used to being treated like an overprotected toddler who might accidentally get lost at the grocery store – and he was getting pretty fucking sick of the hovering (and there really was no other word for it) of his crew that had been absolutely unrelenting ever since the... incident... with the psycho blue-haired bitch at the club two nights ago.

Yes, he truly did understand that he'd been in danger. And that his friends were... hell, they were just behaving like _friends_. But he hadn't been allowed to so much as set foot off of his own ship for the past two days without somebody – sometimes Spock, sometimes Bones, and always, _always_ fucking Sulu – attached to his elbow.

And it was getting really old, really fast.

"You know, Hikaru – at least Giotto and the Security kids make an _effort_ not to look as though they're following me everywhere I go."

_That was supposed to have come off as unconcerned and manly – and I sounded like a damn peevish little kid._

_Whatever. If they want to treat me like a fucking three-year-old, I guess that's what they get._

"Not following you, Jim. Going with you. There's a difference." If Sulu had picked up on his captain's pissed-off tone, he wasn't letting on. He just kept walking as though everything was fine.

It damn well wasn't fine. Not at all.

"Is that so? So, since you're going with me – suppose you tell me where we're going."

Because Jim certainly hadn't announced a destination when he'd left. Shit, he'd tried to leave without anyone noticing – but no. Hikaru had been right there, waiting for him as though they'd planned to leave together.

"Well, Captain..." Kirk noticed that he was "Captain" now, not "Jim." Maybe Sulu was picking up on more than he gave him credit for. "I was assuming we might be going to the meeting between Commodore Beebe, his Security gang and Giotto – since it's in another 15 minutes." He looked somewhat quizzically at Jim. "Wasn't that the plan?"

_Crap_. How had he managed to forget all about that meeting? Not that it was really vital for him to be there – but after all, he was the ranking Starfleet officer on board next to Beebe himself. And none of these investigations would even be going on if it hadn't been for...

… Jim didn't really like to think about it.

And since it was certainly easier to pretend that he'd had every intention of attending Beebe's meeting – and that he hadn't spent the past two days feeling increasingly irritable, distracted and edgy – he simply nodded at Sulu.

"Yeah. That's the plan."

Kirk suddenly felt unaccountably annoyed – and not knowing why he felt that way somehow made it even worse. "Though I'm not quite sure why you're feeling the need to come to this particular get-together – I'm pretty sure it won't have much to do with steering the ship, which is what Starfleet was paying you to do the last time I checked."

Sulu stopped walking and just looked at him for a while in silence – as though he were trying to figure out a puzzle, or simply to figure out an answer that wouldn't set Kirk off.

"True. But since I'm not actually steering anything just now – and I'm pretty sure I've got the parking brake on," he stopped, smiling briefly. "I figured it might be worth going to this meeting with you and seeing what kind of progress was being made with Beebe's and Giotto's investigation."

He paused, looking suddenly tentative. "If that's all right with you, Captain."

Hikaru could tell by looking that it really _wasn't_ all right with Kirk – not at all – but he was going to stay there until the captain actually told him to leave. Because Jim was being weird – even for Jim, as McCoy would say. He was obviously distracted – in fact, Sulu was pretty sure that he hadn't actually remembered this meeting to which they were now headed – and unusually easily irritated.

When Hikaru had mentioned his concerns to McCoy earlier in the day, the doctor had told him that quite a lot of Jim's unusual behavior was probably attributable to residual amounts of drugs still in his system from the other night – and that although Jim insisted he was completely back to normal, he wasn't really in a position yet to judge his own physical and mental state.

But he hadn't been Jim's friend for two years for nothing – and if he were a betting man, Hikaru Sulu would have absolutely wagered that it was something besides residual meds that was getting to Kirk right now.

Not that Jim was going to tell him what it was – and not that Hikaru expected him to. That never had been how they rolled, and that wasn't suddenly going to change now.

But since Kirk didn't seem to have a response one way or the other, Sulu went on, more or less conversationally.

"Don't know if it's true or not, but I overheard somebody saying that somebody else had seen Yves LaFontaine on the base. That seemed a little... _coincidental_ to me, don't you think?"

Until the previous spring, LaFontaine had been on the crew of the_ Enterprise_ – up to the point when he'd been discharged from Starfleet for misconduct. Of course, none of the misconduct had been particularly egregious – but it had been a long-standing and ongoing pattern, and he'd ignored repeated reprimands, so Kirk had seen no recourse but to cut him loose.

_LaFontaine certainly hadn't been happy about it,_ Hikaru mused. However, he'd seemed more pissed at Sulu and Chekov – since it was a fight with Chekov over something he'd said about Sulu that had finally been the straw that had broken the camel's back, as it were – than he'd actually been at Kirk.

_But is he pissed enough to try to get back at the captain? Hell, is he even on the base? _

Until he knew one way or the other, Hikaru felt better when Jim wasn't by himself, especially in his current unsettled – and unfocused – state of mind. He was pretty sure that Giotto really did have Security tailing the captain – albeit at a discreet distance – but it still wasn't the same as having somebody right there.

"LaFontaine? Really? Hadn't heard that." Kirk certainly sounded unconcerned. "Maybe he'd like to get together for lunch or something – we should call, don't you think?"

"Glad you think it's funny, Jim," Hikaru ground out. It took a lot to get him annoyed – it really did - but Kirk just flatly refusing to even _consider _the risks to his own safety was starting to get to him, and he knew he was probably sounding pretty pissed off by now.

And then Jim blew.

"Oh, for shit's sake, Sulu – exactly how much of a wimp do you think I am? Do you really think I need to be hiding behind somebody so that the big, bad _whatever the fuck it is_ doesn't come and get me? Or that I need _you_ to protect me? Come the fuck _on_."

Stopping in his tracks, Kirk took a good look at his helmsman for the first time that afternoon – and he froze as his eyes landed on Sulu's weapon belt. "Oh, for the love of God – you brought along your motherfucking _sword_, didn't you?"

Hikaru didn't deny it; it was his small, collapsible katana – the same one he'd saved Jim's life with at least once before, most memorably when he'd stuck it through the back of a particularly unpleasant Romulan who'd been trying to forcibly remove Kirk from a drill that had been very far off the ground indeed.

And sure, he was good with a phaser. He was_ excellent_ with a phaser – and he was certainly never without it. When it came down to it, though, he always felt most confident with his katana in his belt.

But Kirk was having none of that.

"Seriously, Sulu – what the fuck? This is so much _bullshit_. You think I'm such a fragile little flower that you have to follow me around with your goddamn _sword _now? I mean – have we _met_? Or has it occurred to you that I can damn well take care of myself?"

He shook his head in disgust. "Shit – I don't know. Maybe you're trying for a 'Protecting the Captain' merit badge or something?"

Kirk might have meant his expression to be a sarcastic smile – but it came off as a snarl. "Because I'm sorry to tell you that I'm fresh out – so I guess you'll have to show up to the campfire empty-handed."

Even as he heard himself say the words, Jim found himself wondering why the hell he was being so hard on Sulu – because even if he was acting like an overprotective ass, he obviously had good intentions – and why Jim had made it so personal so quickly. Because it bugged the living shit out of Hikaru to be called a "boy scout," and Kirk knew it.

But if Sulu was angry – or anything else – he was hiding it pretty effectively. His expression was carefully bland, and his voice was perfectly even, as he responded with a quick salute.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I believe I'm dismissed?"

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Now Jim was mad at himself in addition to being pretty thoroughly annoyed with Hikaru... _and every-fucking-body else..._ who was trying to keep him safe from – hell, they didn't even _know_ from who... or what. Much less _why_.

He suspected that he probably ought to apologize, but he was just too pissed off for the time being to do anything but nod curtly – and to watch as Sulu turned crisply and walked purposefully back in the direction of the _Enterprise_.

Since he'd said he was going to the damn meeting, Jim supposed he'd might as well go – and headed toward Beebe's office.

It wasn't particularly likely that there was going to be anything he really cared to hear, anyway.

…

…

He'd been right, of course – the meeting really had been a lot of straight-up bullshit, as Beebe's security chief and Giotto spent a couple of hours finding all kinds of different ways of saying, "Nobody knows who the blue-haired chick is, nobody had seen her before that night at the club, and nobody's seen her since – and by the way, it looks at though we may have a former Starfleet employee with a grudge floating around the base somewhere."

Worse still, they'd all kept _looking_ at him – not directly, but out of the corner of their eyes in what they supposed was a discreet manner, Jim supposed.

Discreet? Wasn't working for them, unfortunately.

And he didn't know exactly what the hell they thought they were looking at – it wasn't as though he was going to evaporate right in front of them.

Not that he wouldn't have liked to, Kirk thought grumpily as he returned to the ship – realizing suddenly that he was walking by himself – and that he was actually more or less alone for the first time in two days.

As much as he'd wanted that, he was slightly surprised not to be enjoying it more. For whatever reason, he still felt grumpy as hell – like his skin didn't fit right, and he just wanted to squirm out of it.

With the _Enterprise_ back in sight now, Jim stopped and sighed deeply before moving to board the ship.

Because, of course, he knew _exactly_ what was bothering him – and he'd put off dealing with it for about as long as he could.

Spock knew now – he hadn't meant to find out, and Jim certainly hadn't meant to let him know – but he knew... about Tarsus IV.

Jim was still vaguely stunned that Spock had taken it as well as he had – and he began to wonder for the first time if perhaps his own perceptions of his actions on that planet were a little skewed. After all, he'd only been a kid – and he'd been traumatized beyond the bounds of human endurance, really; they all had. If his perceptions were a little messed up, it was probably understandable.

So... maybe Spock was right, and maybe - possibly - he wasn't the monster he'd considered himself to be for all these years.

It was a lot to think about – especially when he'd spent the past fourteen years doing his damnedest not to think about it at all.

And he still really, _really_ did not want to think about it.

However – Spock knew, now. And Jim knew what that meant. Spock would never tell – he said he wouldn't, and Jim trusted him wholeheartedly.

But now... shit. Now that meant that Bones needed to know, too. Because... well, dammit, he just did.

Only passing along that information wouldn't be as quick and dirty as a mind meld, unfortunately – because Bones sure as hell wasn't Vulcan. Jim was going to have to sit his best friend down and just _tell_ him – and that was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

And now it couldn't wait any longer, because having it hanging over his head was eating Jim alive.

The turbolift – when the hell had he gotten on the turbolift, anyway? – was stopping at Deck 5, so Jim was reasonably sure he'd pushed the button to go to his quarters at some point.

So. He'd go to his quarters and comm Bones – and he'd figure it out from there.

He hadn't counted on what – all right, _who_ – would be waiting for him in the corridor outside his quarters.

"Keptin? May I have a word with you, please?"

_Fuck it all, anyway. _ This was really just about the last conversation he wanted to have right now – and his temper flared, irrationally, all over again.

"Why, Chekov?" He could feel the sneer on his face. "Did I hurt your boyfriend's feelings? And what's the matter with him, anyway? Can't he fight his own battles these days?"

Pavel looked as surprised as Jim felt to hear that kind of venom coming out of his own mouth. To his credit, though, Chekov remained surprisingly calm.

"Hikaru has no idea I'm here, Keptin – and he didn't say anything to me at all about anything that happened between the two of you. But when he came back and went straight up to the lab – and when he _didn't _say anything at all – well. I am thinking then that _something_ is wrong. Because I know that you are not acting like yourself – and I guessed that maybe you..."

"That I'd been a dick to Hikaru?" Jim sighed, feeling the anger ooze out of him like a deflating balloon. "Because if that was your guess, Pavel, you were right. I was a total asshole to him – and even if he _was_ trying to act like my fucking nursemaid, he deserved better than that."

"He didn't mean to act like... a nursemaid?" Chekov paused over the unfamiliar word. "But you know how Hikaru is, Keptin – if he cares about you, he's going to protect you if he thinks you need protecting." He shrugged. "Even if you _don't_ think you need protecting. Believe me."

And of course, Chekov was right, and Kirk knew it. Sulu was fiercely protective of the people he loved – and although he'd sure never put it that way, Jim realized that he was, in fact, one of those people.

Which actually was pretty awesome, come to think of it.

"And, Keptin," Pavel went on, "imagine, please. Imagine that it had been Hikaru in the club the other night... and this had happened to him. What would you be doing right now?"

Honestly, he already had a pretty good idea of what he'd be doing right now – because if Hikaru Sulu was fiercely protective of the people he loved, Jim Kirk was the same damn way.

He smiled – slightly, self-deprecatingly. "At least I wouldn't have had the damn sword."

Pavel smiled back. "That's just because _he_ knows how to use it – and you don't. Keptin."

This kid really was something else. "You know, Lieutenant, you're pretty damn smart for your age. And... _how_ the fuck old are you, again? Twelve?"

Chekov was unsuccessfully suppressing a laugh, now. "Twenty in two weeks, sir."

"All right then, Lieutenant Twenty-in-two-weeks." Feeling more relaxed than he had all day, Kirk threw an arm around Chekov's shoulders. "Let's go find Hikaru and Nyota. I've got something to tell the three of you, and it's going to be easier to do it all at once."

…

…

It was a cautious Hikaru who appeared in the captain's quarters a few minutes later.

Jim wasn't entirely sure how he was going to apologize to Sulu – but as it turned out, it wasn't necessary. He'd stood when Hikaru came in, ready to say something – though he hadn't figured out quite what, yet – when his helmsman shut him down with a slight smile.

"I get it, Jim," he said quietly. "If you'd turned into human Velcro on me the way I did to you, I'd have gotten pretty pissed, too. And it's not like you don't have anything else on your mind..."

Kirk awkwardly punched Sulu on the shoulder with a self-conscious smile. "Thanks, man. I should have known you'd understand."

"Yeah – I really do." Hikaru's answering grin was a little wicked. "But pull that 'merit badge' shit on me again, and I won't let you have any of my s'mores."

Jim's door had swished open in the middle of Hikaru's sentence, and a somewhat bemused-looking Nyota came into the room.

"S'mores? Did I miss the campfire or something?" She smiled slightly as the three men in the room laughed a little.

"You guys – sit down." Jim gestured to the chairs in what he liked to call his 'living room.' "This isn't going to take too long, I promise."

Nyota still looked a bit concerned. "What's going on, Jim? And why are... why aren't..."

"Why aren't Spock and Bones here? That what you're wondering, Nyota?" He went on after she nodded. "Well, that's kind of the whole thing."

Jim leaned back in his own chair for a moment, taking a deep breath. "It's like this, guys. You all know what went down night before last with the whole... drugs thing. And Nyota, you actually had the pleasure of seeing me under the influence – so you know I was in pretty bad shape."

She nodded again – and Sulu and Chekov were completely silent, waiting.

"The problem was that it all got quite a bit worse before it got better – and Spock... well, poor Spock was stuck dealing with me when I'd managed to pretty much lose any idea of where the hell I was or what was going on."

For a moment, Jim dropped his head, studying his clasped hands. "And the details... the details don't really matter. But during the worst of it, I was reliving... some really fucked-up stuff that went on when I was a kid. It's stuff I don't discuss. I just don't – and I'm not going to now, except to say that it was worse than I could ever begin to tell you, and I wish I never had to think about it ever again."

His hands seemed to have become interesting again all of a sudden, and Jim stared down at them as he paused. Shaking his head briefly, he sighed before going on. "But anyway, when Spock tried a mind meld to help me get back to some sort of reality – he hadn't meant to, but he got stuck in the middle of... of that."

God – it was even hard to talk about _talking_ about it.

"Long story short – Spock ended up figuring out 'The Deep, Dark Secret of My Past.'"

Jim did the air quotes with two fingers, and spoke the words so as to make them all hear the capital letters – but his effort to make light of the situation didn't fool anyone, and no one smiled at his attempted humor. "He wasn't supposed to know it – nobody was – but now he knows."

Nyota's face reflected sudden understanding. "And now you feel like you've got to tell Len about... whatever it is – is that right?"

He should have known – hell, he _had_ known – that she, of all people, would be looking out for Bones. "Yeah. That's it. And – Nyota – it's going to be really tough. And... really bad. For both of us. But I wanted all three of you here to hear this – because you're my friends, and I feel like I owe it to you to at least try to explain why I've been acting like such a prick. And..."

Damn. This was so fucking _hard_.

"It's... it's tough even to think about... about all this stuff in my past. And it's been pretty much the only thing on my mind for the last couple of days – that, and thinking about having to tell Bones."

Jim drew a shaky breath, gripping his knees so tightly that Pavel, sitting closest to him, could see his knuckles turning white.

"This is a lot to ask of you guys, I know – but I'm going to need you to... I don't know. I guess to just be there for us, maybe. Because this is... hard for me. And... you know Spock. He's not letting on – because he never does – but I think it's really been bothering him, too."

He stopped again, swallowing audibly. "Nyota. This is going to rip Bones up – God, I can't even think about it – and I'm only going to be able to get through telling him about it if I know you're going to be there for him afterward, to help him pull it back together again."

She stood wordlessly, eyes shining with unshed tears, and crossed the room to where Jim was sitting.

"You know you can count on me, Jim." Then her voice broke, and she leaned forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders, holding on tight.

"I know, babe." He reached up to hold onto Nyota's arms as they encircled him, squeezing briefly and giving her a grateful smile as she let go and stood up again. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He looked over at where Hikaru and Pavel were watching wordlessly. "Without any of you. I mean it."

Jim rose from his chair, moving to stretch kinks from his back and neck as though he'd been sitting there for hours instead of only a few minutes. "Believe it or not, it actually feels better to tell somebody about this gigantic clusterfuck – which is just about the last thing I'd expected. So... thanks for listening, I guess."

Now Pavel rose too, his face a picture of misery. "Keptin... I ..." He faltered, then stunned everyone by moving to envelop his captain in a brief, fierce bear hug – before backing quickly away with a look of profound discomfort on his face. "I'm... I don't know what to say."

Kirk actually smiled at that. "That's a first, Chekov – you usually _always_ know what to say. Or even if you don't, you manage to say something, anyway."

The young navigator choked out a pained laugh as Kirk reached over to ruffle his curls – which he only ever did to wind Chekov up, because he knew it drove him nuts.

And because he needed desperately to lighten the atmosphere in the room – just a little, just for now – or else he just knew it would crush him.

Somehow, thank God, Sulu had picked up on that as well.

"Tell you what, Kirk – I'll let you have my s'mores anyway." He tilted his head, eying Jim with mock speculation. "And if you play your cards right, I'll even teach you some of my fancy knots."

Neither Nyota nor Pavel quite understood why that set Jim off – but he was actually laughing. "Not... not the Double Carrick Bend?"

Hikaru was laughing, too – and Pavel was going to want to know why, later. "Yep. Even the Midshipman's Hitch."

Jim stopped, smiling gratefully at Sulu – because he'd badly needed somebody _not_ to be emotional just then. "Have I ever mentioned that I love you, you douchebag of a Boy Scout?"

Only Nyota, from where she stood, could see the tears shining in Hikaru's eyes as he answered with a smile.

"You hadn't, Captain Jackass – but I'd managed to figure it out." He leaned forward to plant an exaggeratedly loud, sloppy kiss on Kirk's cheek. "Love you too, prick."

Then Sulu threw an arm around Nyota's and Pavel's shoulders. "We need to get out of here and let Jim take a shower or something. Or we just need to get out of here. Whatever."

"Yeah." Kirk agreed quietly. "I think a shower would be a good idea. Then I'm gonna call Bones and meet him for dinner – and bring him back here." He squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle, glancing up at the chronometer on his wall. "Don't really know when we'll be done, Nyota – but I'd give it at least a couple of hours. We're probably going to have to get pretty drunk. Or at least he will."

"Got it, Jim." Nyota had looked sad before – but now, she only looked determined. "Do you think you could comm me to let me know when you're done? Because then I can take over from there."

"I know you can, babe – I've seen how you pick up the pieces where Bones is concerned." He gave her a half-hearted leer. "Too bad everybody can't have a pick-me-up like you at the end of a bad day."

She gave him an equally half-hearted cuff to the side of the head. "Pig," she said affectionately.

Without any more useless talk, the three of them were gone.

"We're going to go back to our quarters and hang out, Nyota," Pavel offered as they stood in the corridor. "Do you want to come with?"

"Not now – but thanks, sweetie. I've got some work to do."

Because she didn't know exactly why – or exactly how – but Len was going to need her. And she was already thinking of what she could do to make something better that she couldn't even begin to understand. It would be difficult, but not impossible – and for the man she loved, she was willing to do anything at all.

…

Kirk hadn't made it into the shower – or even managed to get undressed – when the call signal on his door chimed.

"Enter." He'd never figured out why people never said "come in" on a ship – but whatever.

He was surprised – not displeased, but surprised – when Spock came through the door.

"Haven't seen you all day, Commander – where have you been keeping yourself?"

Spock looked slightly uncomfortable. "I have been aiding Lieutenant Commander Giotto and his team with their ongoing investigation – and have also attempted to spend some time in meditation. I hope you have not had need of me during my absence."

Jim heard the "attempted" there – Spock was obviously having as hard of a time as he was trying to get anything like rest. "No, Spock – everything's been fine. In fact, I was with Giotto and Beebe earlier this afternoon. Typical meeting – a fucking waste of time."

"With whom did you attend this meeting, Jim?" Spock was trying to ask that question casually – and failing spectacularly. Jim had to smile, just a little.

"In other words, you're wanting to know who was my nanny? That would have been Sulu – and I managed to jump up that poor bastard's ass for not leaving me alone." He looked at Spock with sudden curiosity. "Was he there on your order, Spock?"

His First shook his head once, definitively. "He was not, Jim. Hikaru was there entirely of his own accord – though I wholeheartedly approved of his plan to make sure that you were not unaccompanied when you left the ship. It is regrettable, I believe, that you felt the need to... jump up his ass."

Jim was laughing again – though it felt somewhat hysterical, just now. "I'm never going to get used to your quoting some of my more... colorful language, I don't think."

He dropped back into the chair that he had recently vacated, stretching his legs out in front of him and gesturing Spock into another chair. "So – is this a social call, or is there anything in particular I can do for you?"

Spock was looking uncomfortable again, perching on the edge of his chair as he addressed Jim. "Neither, really. However, I had been trying to locate Nyota earlier – and was somewhat surprised when the computer located her in your quarters. And..." Spock was obviously having a hard time admitting to being a bit of a snoop – "I also discovered that Sulu and Chekov were here at the same time. I found myself wondering..."

"...Why I'd had a meeting without inviting you?" Jim smiled slightly. "Thought you'd have figured that out. It was obviously to plan your surprise birthday party, right?"

As Spock tried – and failed – to process his feeble attempt at humor, Jim realized that this was one more person to whom he owed the truth. That seemed to be the flip side of having this close-knit family of friends; on one hand, there was the unconditional loving support that he knew he could always count on.

And that, honestly, was worth everything.

However, on the other hand was this damnable _accountability_. These people simply _cared _too much; they wanted – no, _needed_ – to know all the dirty little secrets that he'd always managed to keep hidden from the casual acquaintances he'd called friends in the past.

"Not buying the party story?" Jim laughed humorlessly. "Yeah – didn't much figure you would. So, here's what was really going down..."

Briefly, he explained to Spock what he had – and hadn't – told Nyota, Hikaru and Pavel, as well as his plans to talk to Bones later in the evening. Jim realized, vaguely, that the telling was easier the second time around.

Or maybe it was just because it was Spock – and Jim was starting to feel as though there was nothing he couldn't tell Spock.

All right – _almost_ nothing.

...

* * *

...

As it happened, nobody got drunk that night.

Somehow, inexplicably, telling Bones about his time on Tarsus IV was simultaneously not nearly as bad as Jim had thought it would be – and much, much worse.

He'd been stunned to know that Bones had suspected that Jim had been hiding something horrific from his past – had suspected it for years. He'd spent enough time with Jim's medical records – and the gaping holes therein where Starfleet had made files inaccessible – to even begin to wonder whether his dearest friend might have been a Tarsus IV survivor.

"It was the files – or the lack of 'em – that and the damn nightmares, Jim," he'd explained, answering the question that his friend was too astonished to ask. "I knew that, whatever it was, it had to have been horrible. But I also knew that you didn't wanna talk about it. And dammit, as much as I wanted to know – well, if it was that bad, I wasn't gonna make you."

He made only one request of Jim. "I'll never make you bring it up again, kid. I promise. But now – tonight – you tell me everything. _Everything_, you understand? Because I need to know it all, and I'm pretty sure you need for me to know it all."

So, over the course of several hours, Jim had somehow managed to tell him everything. He'd cried – they both had – and Jim had ended up returning the favor of a couple nights before, holding Bones' head for him as he vomited when the stories became... simply too much.

Finally, they'd ended up in an exhausted mess, draped across one another on Jim's bathroom floor – and Jim thought fleetingly that he might not want to say another word, not ever again.

"You know this doesn't change anything, right?" Jim looked up to see Bones, pale, disheveled and red-eyed, looking solemnly down at him.

And Jim, of course, knew exactly what he meant. "You know, all these years I'd figured that if anybody knew what I'd seen – what I'd _been_ – what I had to do – that nobody would ever..."

He was cut off then, as strong arms pulled him tightly against Bones' chest.

"Shut up." Jim could hear the tears in his friend's voice. "Just shut the hell up, and don't _ever_ let me hear any shit like that from you again. You got that?"

Jim could only nod in response – partly because his face was buried in Bones' shirt, and partly because he didn't trust his voice at that moment.

"You know what I'm saying." Bones' voice was deep as it rumbled in his chest against Jim's cheek. "Doesn't change a damn thing. You're still an annoying little fuck – and you're still my best friend. Because – shit, Jim. As awful as it was, it's part of what made you who you are. And it probably takes somebody as screwed up as you are to put up with somebody as screwed up as I am – so I guess I can't complain."

Jim felt a strong hand affectionately ruffling his hair before pulling him even closer. He could feel his friend fighting for his self-control again – but he wasn't going to mention it, not this time. Jim was pretty sure that he, at least, was all cried out for one night.

"For what it's worth, ya little bastard," the gruff voice said over Jim's head, "I think what you did back there on Tarsus was pretty damned amazing. I can think of a lot of perfectly competent fully-grown men – shit, Starfleet officers – who couldn't, or wouldn't, have done half what you did. And no matter what you think, _I _think you were a hero. And..." he paused, taking a steadying breath.

"I'm not gonna be sayin' this again, so listen – I'm just unbelievably proud of you, kid. For that, and for... dammit, for everything else. All of it. Always - do you hear that?"

Jim could hear Bones swallowing hard before he went on. "I'm proud you're my friend, Jim – and I'm proud you're my captain."

He squeezed Jim - hard - once more before finally letting him go.

"Annoying little fuck."

...

It had taken some persuading, but Jim finally convinced Bones to – as he'd somewhat inelegantly phrased it – get his sorry ass up off of his floor and get the hell out of his room. Once McCoy was reasonably sure that Jim would be all right on his own – and even more sure (not that he'd say so to Jim) that he likely wouldn't remain alone for very long – he put himself into some semblance of presentable order and left Jim's quarters.

"Find Nyota," had been his friend's parting words. And as little as he wanted to inflict his presence upon her in his current condition, Leonard McCoy knew that he had no other choice.

…

Nyota jumped at the sudden chirp of her communicator; not that she hadn't been expecting it, but... she was understandably a little on edge.

"Jim?"

"Yeah. We're done, and I've sent him to find you."

"Are you... is he...?"

"He'll be okay, Nyota. We all will. Just... take care of him tonight, all right?"

"Got it, Captain," she said, an undercurrent of warmth and affection clear in her voice.

Clicking off her communicator, she turned to speak to someone else in the room. "You heard the man. They're finished. So... go. Go now."

Without a word, a tall figure rose from a chair across from Nyota's in the small conference room where they had both been awaiting word from Jim.

Nodding his farewell, Spock was gone, leaving her there alone to wait for Len.

…

Jim had just finished changing into his sleeping clothes when the door whooshed open. This time, he wasn't really surprised when the door opened to admit Spock – even though he had come in unannounced. Somehow, Jim had almost expected him – not that he could really explain why.

Spock said nothing – he just sat down on Jim's floor, legs crossed, and waited.

"Ummm... Spock?" Jim was a little confused. "Are you going to, um, _meditate_ in here? I mean, it's fine – it's _great_ – if that's what you want to do. It's just that you've never done that in here before."

Belatedly, Jim had noted that Spock was not in uniform, but rather in the type of clothing that he frequently seemed to wear for meditation. He almost - _almost_ - grinned when he recalled how little his First cared for it when Bones referred to those garments as his "hobgoblin jammies."

"With your permission, Jim, I thought I might try to do so. I have been... singularly unsuccessful in my recent attempts at meditation, and thought that perhaps a slight change of venue would be helpful."

He was not lying – not exactly.

It was not precisely a change of location that Spock sought for his own peace of mind at this time – or if it was, it was not _only_ the location that mattered. Because Spock was in hopes that a closer proximity to Jim would enable him to meditate more easily – or at least to alleviate the agitation that had been roiling in his thoughts ever since Jim's narrowly-prevented abduction of two nights previously.

Also in his mind, and certainly interfering with his ability to meditate, was the indelible memory of his meld with Jim – of the stark horror of what he had seen and shared with his captain in those few moments. It was almost unthinkable to Spock that Jim had lived with these memories for all this time without telling anyone; how Jim had done this was more than he could comprehend.

Once more, Jim had surprised him with his strength and resiliency; perhaps one day, he reflected, Spock might learn not to be surprised by anything Jim did.

"Go on ahead and meditate anywhere you'd like, Spock – I think I'm going to turn in."

Jim appreciated – appreciated enormously – that Spock had not come in asking how his conversation with Bones had gone. Talking about all of this was difficult enough, and he'd already done _way_ more of that than he'd wanted to for one day. Spock's quiet presence in the room, though unexpected, was a welcome one; Jim didn't want to talk, but he found that he really didn't want to be alone, either.

That was one of the things he liked best about Spock – somehow, he always seemed to instinctively know when Jim needed him nearby. Better still, he knew when to talk, and when to be silent.

_Maybe Chekov could take lessons..._

He didn't realize he'd chuckled until Spock looked up at him, surprised. "Jim? Are you all right?"

Jim smiled reassuringly at his First. "Guess that depends on your definition of 'all right', Spock - but yeah. I'm okay."

He pulled back his covers and clambered underneath, ordering the ambient light in his quarters down to seven percent. "Hope your meditation goes better for you – good night."

"Good night, Jim. Rest well."

...

An hour later, Jim still stared, restless and wide-eyed, into the darkness of his room.

"Jim. You are not sleeping."

He was pretty sure the phrase "No shit, Sherlock" would be wasted on Spock – and besides, it wouldn't be very nice.

"No, I'm not. And it doesn't exactly seem like you're meditating, either."

"Your observation is accurate; I am not."

Was that Vulcan for "No shit, Sherlock?" Because it kind of sounded that way.

But now Spock had moved over to sit in the chair that he'd occupied the other night when he'd stayed to keep watch over him – and even in the darkness, Jim could clearly see the concern in those deep brown eyes.

_So... no,_ he thought. _Probably not being sarcastic, there._

"You have gone through a great deal of physical and emotional stress in the past two days, Jim. Moreover, I have reason to believe that you did not sleep last night, either."

_How the hell did he know that?_

"It is highly detrimental to you to go without your needed rest, Jim. You know this."

As if he were _trying_ not to sleep? _Come on._ "I do know, Spock. Just like it's detrimental to you to go without rest or meditation – and yet you're going without both of those things. But... it's not like we're doing it on purpose."

It was a constant source of surprise to Jim how thoroughly he'd learned to read Spock's expressions. Almost anyone else would have looked at the half-Vulcan's face at that moment and seen no expression at all; Jim, on the other hand, could see that Spock looked tired – and worried.

"You will make yourself ill with lack of sleep – and I know that you have a great aversion to Dr. McCoy's sedatives, or I would contact him to request his assistance in this matter."

Now Spock suddenly looked somewhat tentative. "Is there... anything I can do to help you rest, Jim?"

Jim looked consideringly at Spock for a long, silent moment.

_Fuck it,_ he finally thought.

"Yeah, actually." Pulling back the covers, he shifted to the far side of his bed, patting the space he'd made next to himself. "Get in."

The brown eyes went wide with surprise. Nonetheless, Spock moved wordlessly – but unhesitatingly – to accommodate Jim's request, and the two men carefully arranged themselves next to one another in the small bed so as not to disturb each other's rest.

Spock, lying quietly in the darkness, was highly gratified to feel Jim's tense body gradually relaxing against his – and to realize at last that the man next to him had fallen into a deep sleep.

This experience was not, he noted, like the last time he had spent the night here – when Jim had unreservedly curled his body around Spock's, and he had felt free to pull Jim close to himself throughout the night.

His last thought before he too was claimed by sleep was that this experience was, however, still highly satisfactory.

…

* * *

…

"Computer, locate Lieutenant Uhura."

"Lieutenant Nyota Uhura is in Communications Meeting Room Alpha."

_Great,_ McCoy thought. _What the hell is she doing in the damn meeting room on shore leave, for God's sake?_

He'd comm her, he decided, and see if she wouldn't come down to his quarters. Or if she'd invite him up to hers.

Because for all that he really had tried – _all right, without much success, but tried all the same_ – to be strong for Jim tonight, it had taken a lot out of him.

The thought of his Jim – his dearest friend, his beautiful, fearless golden boy – going through the torture, the terror of Tarsus IV... well, it was almost more than he could take.

Not that he was going to let himself break down over it; if Jim was handling it, then he could damn well handle it, too. After all, it had been Jim's_ life_ – Leonard had only had to listen to the stories.

But – dear Lord. That a child – _just a little boy_ – had been put into the position that Jim had been forced into down there on that hell-hole of a planet... God. It was unthinkable.

And he was pretty sure that it was going to take Nyota to help him make it go away – at least a little.

"Nyota?"

Her voice came back over the communicator almost immediately. "Right here, sweetheart – how are you?"

"I'm – wait. Did Jim tell you...?"

"Not really. Just that the two of you were going to have a tough discussion – so I've been waiting to hear from you."

She paused briefly. "Look, babe – I'm up in Meeting Room Alpha. Do you think you could come up here for just a few minutes?"

That really was about the_ last_ thing he wanted to do. "Can't you come down to my place? I don't really want to hang out in a meeting room right now – I'm sure you understand, right?"

"I do, Len, really. But... I just need you to come up here. Just for a few minutes, I promise."

He was starting to get really frustrated – but remembered that Nyota just flat did not make unreasonable requests. If she wanted him to go up there, it was because she just couldn't get away, or something like that.

Exhaustedly, he punched the appropriate buttons on the turbolift and went to join Nyota.

Fortunately, she was waiting at the door of the meeting room to pull him into a long, tender kiss. And, dear God - she smelled so good, and tasted so good, and felt like sheer heaven in his arms.

"Oh, darlin'." He touched his forehead to hers. "That's just exactly what the doctor ordered."

She smiled lovingly up at him. "But then again, you're the doctor – and you _always_ order that." With that, she took his arm and gently pulled him into the drab little meeting room, guiding him to a chair at the conference table.

"Are you about done here, Nyota? Because I've gotta tell you, I'm pretty well wiped out just about now, and I just need a horizontal surface and you to hold on to."

Leaning down, she dropped a light kiss onto the top of his head. "Just a couple more things, Len. Then I'll be done."

He didn't really know what she was doing – but it mostly seem to involve the wall-sized vid screen behind him, and he wasn't in any kind of mood to turn around and watch whatever adjustments she was making, for whatever reason.

"One more thing – almost finished." Nyota had a mysterious little smile on her face, now – and damned if he could figure out what she had to be smiling about.

Then he heard it behind him – a heart-stoppingly familiar little giggle – and he whipped around in his chair to see just exactly what Nyota had put up onto that vid screen. The sweet, dimpled smile that greeted him there might have been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Hey, Daddy – Miss Nyota says that I'm your special surprise! Are you s'prised, Daddy?"

This time, finally, the tears prickling behind his eyelids didn't hurt – and Leonard McCoy realized that when he'd thought he couldn't possibly love Nyota Uhura more than he did, he'd been just plain wrong.

...

* * *

...

_**So** - not 11,000 words again, but long enough, yes? It would be really great to hear from you with your thoughts about this chapter (smiles hopefully)._

**And now, a quick Pavel/Hikaru note:** About that 20th birthday gift. At this point, it's my plan to bring that up in the next chapter - and you will get some explanation of what Hikaru did for Pavel.

Having said that - I know that there's a lot of "overlap" between my "Sestina" readers and my "Both Ways at Once" readers, and those of you who've done "Both Ways" already know about the gift. You also already know the significance of why Hikaru gave it to Pavel - and I don't intend to repeat any of that back story in "Sestina," because chances are that if you are really into Pav and 'Karu, you've read "Both Ways."

So, here's the deal for those of you who have only read "Sestina" - Hikaru's birthday gift to Pavel has a _lot_ of back story that explains why the gift is especially important for them both and for their relationship. If that's something you want to know about, go read "Both Ways." If you're not particularly about the Chulu, you're going to get as much info as you need from "Sestina."

Does that work? Hope so. Love you all, and thanks for reading!


	19. Morning

_**I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day. **_**  
~E. B. White **

**

* * *

**

"They're _sleeping_ together? And you _walked in_ on them?" Pavel's shocked expression was almost comical.

"Holy shit – not like _that_, Pav," Hikaru hastened to reassure him. "They're together. And they're asleep. In their pajamas. _That _kind of sleeping together."

He reached up and absently ran his hand through his hair. "And God knows I didn't mean to walk in on them. Jim wasn't supposed to be in his quarters at this hour of the morning – so I just assumed when he wasn't on the bridge, he must be out on the base... or – I don't know – shit, _somewhere_."

Now both of Sulu's hands moved to scrub through his hair – leaving it sticking out at all kinds of unaccustomed angles. "It seriously never occurred to me that he'd still be in his quarters – much less that he'd still be in bed asleep. Or that Spock would be with him. I mean..."

Pavel looked more closely now – and fought back a smile as he noticed that Hikaru was blushing furiously. "It is not so bad, is it, 'Karu? I mean – it's not like you walked in on..." He trailed off, watching curiously as Hikaru's gaze remained steadfastly fixed on the floor between them.

"Ummm... 'Karu?" It wasn't like Hikaru to be quite that easily embarrassed. "Exactly what _did_ you walk in on?"

"You're right, Pav – it wasn't that bad. It's just that... well, I feel like I interrupted something that was pretty... I don't know... _private_."

"Private... how?" Unable to help himself, Pavel reached forward, stroking Hikaru's thick, dark hair back into some semblance of order. "You know I'm going to want all the details now, right?"

Finally looking up, Hikaru smiled indulgently at Pavel's eager expression. "Of course I know that – knew it from the get-go. You always want the details." Taking a step forward, he reached out and pulled Pavel into a quick hug. "Not that there's a lot to tell, really."

"I wanted to give Jim my spare katana; if he didn't want me hovering around with mine, then at least he could have one to carry himself in case he might need it – you know. Whatever."

He shrugged briefly, dismissively. "So – like I said. When Jim wasn't on the bridge, I just assumed he was probably off the ship and out on the starbase somewhere – because you know he's _never_ sleeping this late, even on a day off. Didn't occur to me to have the computer locate him for me – which is what I ought to have done, obviously."

He paused, shaking his head in disgust. "I'm not usually that stupid, Pav – don't know what got into me there."

"Not stupid, 'Karu – I mean, after all, Kirk gave you the entry code to his quarters a long time ago, and he knows you use it every now and then. So it isn't like you were trying to sneak in on him or anything like that – you know you weren't." Pavel ran his fingers through Hikaru's hair once more – just to be sure it was straight.

And because he really, really loved Hikaru's hair.

"Besides – ever since the Keptin was almost kidnapped in the club, I know you've been worrying about him. Don't you think that's why you were maybe... preoccupied... and didn't think to have the computer locate him?"

Pavel had noticed that Hikaru had been exceptionally concerned about Jim's welfare in the wake of his near-abduction on the starbase. And maybe Kirk didn't realize it, but Pavel knew that besides himself and Nyota, Jim was his closest friend on the _Enterprise_ – or anywhere else, for that matter. As Pavel had explained to the captain the previous day, Hikaru was fiercely protective of the people he loved – he'd never had much of a family of his own, and wasn't about to let anything happen to the family he'd found on board the _Enterprise_.

_Hikaru's friends are lucky to have him,_ Pavel thought with a surge of affection. _And they damn well better know it._

Hikaru smiled gratefully at Pavel's ready explanation for his actions. "Maybe that's it, Pav. Who knows?"

"And it's no big deal, 'Karu – they'll never know you were there anyway. I mean, neither of them woke up, did they?"

"No." Hikaru shook his head slightly. "No, they didn't."

"But..." Pavel knew there was more – and he also knew Hikaru well enough not to prompt him any further.

"But... dammit, Pav – if you'd have been there, you'd understand why I'm feeling like this." Dropping the spare katana – which had obviously _not _been left with Jim – on the desk, he flopped unceremoniously onto the bed, covering his eyes with one arm.

"Couldn't really see Jim from where I was," Hikaru explained, voice slightly muffled by the arm across his face. "His back was to me, but he basically had himself draped over Spock with his face pretty much buried in his shoulder."

It was an idea that Pavel couldn't resist; walking over to the bed, he nudged Hikaru over to one side and lay down next to him, throwing an arm and a leg across him in a similar fashion.

At this distance, he only had to whisper into Hikaru's ear. "What about Spock?"

Hikaru sighed. "Yeah. So... Spock. He... he was holding onto Jim like..."

_And see,_ he thought _...that's the whole thing, right there. _

Because Hikaru been Jim's friend long enough to know that his captain was crazy about his first officer – whether or not he was ready to admit that reality to himself. And he'd been Spock's friend, too – but had never really gotten close enough to the reserved half-Vulcan to truly know whether he felt quite the same way about Jim.

Frankly, that always made him feel a little uneasy; Jim always acted like nothing fazed him, but the two of them had enough in common for Hikaru to know instinctively that Starfleet's youngest captain felt things a lot more deeply than he cared to let on. He would never fall in love halfway – that just wasn't how Jim functioned.

And Spock would never hurt Jim on purpose – he was utterly sure of that – but if he didn't return Jim's feelings... well, Hikaru knew from painful personal experience that such a situation could get really, really ugly. And after all, the guy _was_ half Vulcan, and they'd already seen how the whole romance thing had worked out for Spock – or rather, how it _hadn't _worked out – with Nyota; maybe he really _didn't_ have the same emotions as humans, just like he'd always tried to tell them.

Pavel, he knew, was absolutely certain that Spock was very much in love with Jim – repressing it like hell, but in love with him, all the same – and Pav had spent enough time with them both over the past few months that he'd really had the opportunity to observe them closely together. But then again, Pavel was a hopeless romantic, and wanted everyone to be as happy in love as he was.

Hikaru certainly hoped, for Jim's sake, that Pavel was right – but he could never be sure.

_But then, this morning... damn._

Jim's door had opened almost silently, and he'd taken a step into a darkened – empty, he'd thought at first – room. Then he'd seen them – Jim, and Spock, tangled up in Jim's covers and in one another – and Hikaru had backed soundlessly out of the room again immediately, almost before the door had had a chance to close.

Because Jim would have _died _if he knew Hikaru had seen him snuggled into Spock's shoulder as though it were his safest haven – and Spock would have never recovered from being seen holding Jim...

"So, 'Karu?" Pavel's whisper brought Hikaru back from his thoughts. "You didn't say – how was Spock holding Kirk?"

"Like..."

_Like he wanted to protect Jim from everything in the universe, forever._

_Like Jim was the most precious thing anywhere._

_Like he never, ever wanted to let go._

Hikaru swallowed hard around the sudden tightness in his throat before he wrapped his arms around Pavel.

"...Like I hold you."

* * *

Spock settled himself into his accustomed position for meditation in the same corner of Jim's room where he had attempted to do so the night before. Not that meditation was necessary in order to achieve physical rest at this time – he had slept more deeply, and for a longer period of time, last night than he had in...

… a minimum of 43.6 Terran days, by his own rough estimation.

Neither would meditation be possible, he suspected – for although his body felt enormously refreshed, he found that his mind was, to use one of Doctor McCoy's odd (and mind-bogglingly illogical) phrases, "going a mile a minute."

Spock had never bothered to explain to the doctor that a mind (inhabiting, one would assume, a living sentient being of some sort) traveling at such a speed would not be able to attain sufficient acceleration to leave Earth's gravitational field – and that considering that any given Federation starship routinely traveled at approximately 19,000,804.6757 miles per _second_ (assuming travel at a more or less constant rate of Warp 4), then the mind of someone aboard the hypothetical starship might be presumed to be traveling at upwards of 1,140,048,280 miles per minute. Therefore, Doctor McCoy's mind was, by his own calculations, moving too slowly by a factor of over 1 x 10 to the ninth power – an observation that, Spock was certain, the doctor would not care to hear.

However, Spock appreciated the sentiment behind the otherwise bizarre phrase on this particular morning – because his thought processes were singularly uncooperative and disorderly this morning, and seemed to be proceeding at a faster rate than usual.

This morning he had, thankfully, awakened before Jim– and a quick glance back toward the bed confirmed that Jim still slept soundly.

Jim would not need to know that Spock had awakened to find the two of them in a position that might be described as... compromising. Spock, as was his habit, had remained sleeping on his back – and Jim, he knew, had begun the night in a similar position next to him.

However, at some point in the night, Jim had turned to sleep on his side and had essentially wrapped himself around Spock – an arm thrown across his chest, a leg across Spock's own, and his head resting on Spock's shoulder. It had required no small effort to disentangle his own limbs from Jim's without waking him this morning, but Spock had been able to do so successfully, for which he was grateful.

Jim would undoubtedly have found such a situation embarrassing if he had been the first to awaken this morning. Fortunately for Spock, embarrassment was a human emotion – to which he was, of course, essentially immune.

He did, however, experience something approaching... _possibly __**concern**__ would be an accurate term_, he mused – over the position he himself seemed to have assumed while sleeping. He had awakened to find himself with both arms wrapped securely around Jim, bringing Jim's body even closer to his own – and he had one hand resting on Jim's head, fingers buried in thick, soft golden hair.

The situation was, of course, completely innocent, and easily explained – Jim was a highly tactile person at all times, and it stood to reason that he would be so in sleep as well. It was also not unreasonable that Spock might have moved his arms around Jim's body in the course of the night; it was, all things considered, a more comfortable position for him than having his arms resting at his sides.

His fingers would understandably have been tangled in Jim's hair because...

_Because..._

Obviously, not _every_ angle of the situation required a rational explanation.

Spock chose to ignore the thought that lingered stubbornly in his mind – that waking up in that way with Jim should have been profoundly uncomfortable for him. That kind of physical contact – that total dropping of defenses – that complete relaxation around another being – he had always considered himself incapable of any of these things.

It had been a point of some contention in his relationship with Nyota that although he allowed physical contact with her, he never instigated it – and had always gently but steadfastly refused to spend the night with her. She could not understand how seriously he took his privacy and his own physical boundaries – and what a breach of his privacy it would be to attempt to sleep in the same bed with her.

She had indeed tried to understand – which was certainly more than he could have expected of most Human women. He doubted his mother would have been so patient with Sarek; regardless of what his feelings on the subject might have been, Amanda had expected – or rather, demanded – a certain amount of physical contact from her husband.

Nyota had been more than patient – but Spock's unwillingness to have more consistent physical contact with her had proven to be an insurmountable barrier between them.

And now...

Now, twice in the past three nights, he had spent the entire night with Jim cradled in his arms – feeling Jim's breath steady and warm against his neck, and the unexpected silkiness of Jim's hair between his fingers...

_There – that is the rational explanation. It is... sensually pleasant to touch Jim's hair._

But Spock knew on some level that this closeness with Jim should not have been nearly so easy, and that it should not have felt so... _natural_. He certainly should not have felt so comfortable in Jim's presence to have been able to sleep undisturbed through the night in the same bed with him.

And yet, he had.

Which, while deeply confusing and somewhat disconcerting, was not a matter to which he wished to devote further thought at this time.

Taking a deep cleansing breath and turning his mental energy inward, Spock did his best to clear his mind completely.

Five minutes of silence turned to ten...

...at which point, Jim figured it was probably safe to pretend to wake up.

And to hope that neither Spock nor Hikaru planned to say anything – _ever_ – about this morning.

* * *

"Len, that little outfit Jo-Jo had on last night – was that the one you got her for her birthday?" Nyota had fought the urge to smile when, as soon as Joanna had been told she'd be surprising her Daddy, the little girl had run off at full tilt, shouting, "Mama! I need my princess dress!"

She didn't fight the smile now; the handsome face next to hers on the pillow was beaming, and it was truly wonderful.

"Yep," he replied, his voice still gravelly with the last lingering remnants of sleep. "When she turned four, I got her a Snow White dress. Five, it was Cinderella. Six..."

"So – I was right. I knew that had to be Belle – since not too many six-year-olds typically run around in golden ball gowns and tiaras." Nyota rolled onto her side, raising herself up on one elbow before leaning over to gently kiss that gorgeous, smiling mouth. "She's a lucky little girl to have a Daddy who's willing to go to all the trouble to find her stuff like that."

He pulled her down on top of him with one bare arm. "Lucky? Yeah, she did all right for a sixth birthday. Turns out Grandpa's surprise was a pony – and from what Joss told me, nobody's presents stood a chance that day after she found out about that." He rubbed a hand along Nyota's back – realizing with a surge of amusement that the soft cotton he felt was, in fact, an ancient Ole Miss t-shirt that she'd appropriated as part of her sleepwear wardrobe.

"But really," Len continued, "it's not like it was that much trouble to find her that little dress. Honestly, it was more research than anything else – and I didn't mind doing that, 'cause it was for Jo-Jo. And sometimes... I don't know how to say it, but I want to do extra for her."

He looked up into Nyota's face with a smile that held both tenderness and possession. "You're eventually gonna discover this for yourself, sweetheart – I like shopping for special things for the people I love."

"Well, Dr. McCoy – not that I don't find that a highly intriguing statement indeed, but I hope you'll have noticed that I don't need you to _buy_ me anything to make me happy." Nyota ran her fingers appreciatively across Len's bare chest. "You've already given me everything I want."

Slowly, reluctantly, she stretched and rolled out of bed. "However – if you _do_ ever feel an insurmountable need to shop for me, I'd appreciate it if you'd remember that my tastes don't run toward ball gowns and tiaras."

He chuckled warmly. "Duly noted, Lieutenant."

In no hurry himself to arise for the morning, Leonard decided instead to prop himself up on some pillows and admire the view – which was to say, he was going to watch Nyota wander around the room and replicate him his first cup of coffee for the day.

"Speaking of shopping, though – and packages, and all that good stuff – seems like Sulu's been haunting the deliveries bay at the base. He waitin' for anything special?"

Nyota turned a slightly surprised glance in his direction. "You don't miss much, do you? You're right, though. 'Ru has a... package that's supposed to be coming in from Andoria – and if it doesn't get here today or tomorrow, he's got problems, since after that we'll be out of here and back into deep space for who knows how long."

Surprisingly, Len wasn't entirely sorry to see this shore leave coming to an end. He never thought he'd see the day he'd be anxious to head out into the nothingness in the oversized sardine can that was the _Enterprise_, but he'd be relieved to get away from this starbase – because he couldn't put a finger on it, but something just wasn't _right_ here.

"Yeah – day after tomorrow, and we're gone. Guess that explains why Sulu's been prowling around like that. My Granny woulda said he's as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs."

Nyota came to sit on the side of the bed again, a steaming cup of coffee – or as close to it as they could seem to get out here – in her hand.

"Thanks, darlin' – you know you're a lifesaver, right?" He gave her another brilliant smile – damn, but she loved it when he smiled like that – and took a sip from the mug. "But... hell, I'm as ready for gossip as the next guy, babe – what's in this package that Fly-Boy's waitin' for that's got him so worked up? This a deep, dark secret, or somethin' you can tell me about?"

Nyota laughed quietly into her own coffee cup. "You know, Len, you like to come off as the grumpy, no-nonsense ol' country doctor – but your reputation would be shot all to hell if people knew that you were as bad about ship's gossip as anybody on board. Hell, you're as bad as Chris and Chryssie – and that's saying something."

She affectionately ruffled his already disheveled hair – it probably needed cut soon, but she loved it when it was a little long.

"However, unlike Chris and Chryssie, you can be counted on to keep a secret. So – here's the scoop: 'Ru's waiting for... let's just say, a _very special _piece of jewelry."

Len sat straight up. "Holy shit, Nyota – he's gonna pop the question to our little Ariel?"

Ever since Len had found out – totally by accident – that Pavel was gifted with an amazing singing voice, he had teasingly referred to him as "The Little Mermaid."

Pavel always made a great show of being indignantly embarrassed by this nickname – but Nyota was pretty sure that not only did he rather like it, but that he'd probably miss it if Len ever did do as he'd been asked and "cut it out, for God's sake."

"It's a long story, babe – but here's the condensed version. You know how Pav's birthday is coming up in a couple weeks, and we've all been running around helping 'Ru get his surprise together?"

Len nodded silently. He'd seen Nyota – and Jim, and Spock, and Scotty – helping Hikaru on a mission of some clandestine nature at all kinds of odd hours of the day and night, but hadn't really pressed anybody for details, having never been in a position himself to be of any help.

"So... remember earlier this year – when we were back on Earth for a couple weeks? Pavel and Hikaru went to visit Pav's family in Russia. Whole family loved Hikaru. _Loved _him. And he loved them, too – especially Pav's great-grandma. Pav's Babushka – from what I hear, she's pretty much a force of nature, but she and Hikaru got along like a house on fire. She lives in a little town not too far outside of Moscow, and evidently Pavel lived with her for a few years when he was going to some kind of accelerated school there."

Nyota paused, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind one ear. "Anyway – there's a special spot in town, a little park by a river, where Pav always liked to go when he was little. He and Hikaru went running there a lot while he was visiting – 'Ru liked it too. It's evidently just gorgeous. So... he got the idea that it would be a cool thing to do for Pavel if he could manage to recreate a hologram of that spot by the river in Noginsk – so he'd have a little bit of home with him even way out here."

There was, of course, a _whole _lot more to that particular story – and Nyota, as best friend and confidante to both Pavel and Hikaru, had heard it all. But she was reasonably sure that Len – his fondness for gossip and his hidden sentimental streak notwithstanding – would be just as happy if she left out what he'd likely refer to as "all that mushy shit."

Len looked at her, raising one eyebrow skeptically in a gesture that was almost frighteningly reminiscent of Spock. "You're leaving out the mushy shit, aren't you?"

Caught in the act, she clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh, and simply nodded in response.

"That's probably a good thing – I still have to work with both of 'em, and that'd be tough if I had to suppress my gag reflex every time I thought about them making some kind of Russian goo-goo eyes at each other on a riverbank or some such nonsense."

Nyota reached over to cuff him gently on the side of his head. "Yeah, you talk a good game, Mr. Tough Guy. You're as mushy and romantic as anybody else, and you know it. But this time, the details are probably not all that important – so I'll spare you."

She followed the cuff with a quick kiss on his forehead. "Suffice it to say that the hologram is what we've all been working on for the past few months – because it's absolutely enormous, and intricate as anything I've ever seen. That'll be Pavel's birthday gift – and Hikaru's hoping to be able to propose in that spot on the riverbank when they go for their morning run that day."

Len shook his head – she could see that he was aiming for a derisive expression, and failing miserably. "Well, shit," he muttered. "Guess that actually is kinda romantic, come to think about it. Figures that damn Musketeer would come up with something like that."

Suddenly, he reached up to take the coffee cup out of her hand, and Nyota squeaked with surprise as he scooped her up and deposited her back into the bed next to him. Her eyes went dark and soft as he laid her down and rolled over so that he was braced on his arms and leaning over her – Len was always, _always_ sexy, but there was something about that early-morning stubble and the velvety growl of his voice when he'd first awakened that just melted her.

"Just so you've got this straight, darlin' – when the time comes, you'll get all the romance I can possibly give you, because you deserve... hell, you deserve more than I could possibly ever manage. But I can tell you this right now, Miss Nyota Uhura – you'll be somewhere pretty damn special – and it ain't gonna be any kind of a hologram, either – when you get that question and that big ol' diamond from me. And that's a promise."

If she'd had an answer to that, it was lost in his kiss.

* * *

"Sickbay – Papagiannopoulos here."

"Just me, Chryssie – the guys wanted me to let you know they think they found some of the Mystery Poet's stuff down here. Figured you might want it."

The diminutive nurse sat up straighter in the chair where she'd been entering patient data into the never-ending forms that Starfleet seemed to require for... pretty much everything, really. This particular shore leave, as far as she was concerned, was overrated – not that Dr. McCoy was asking her to do any of this work, but the attack on Captain Kirk had put a damper on everyone's spirits, and people really hadn't felt like going out and getting crazy, all things considered. So... might as well do the work, since it needed done.

But they hadn't heard from their anonymous poet in a while – and the prospect of some new material was enough to cheer her up enormously.

"Really, Nazim? That's great! So – it's on actual paper, like the other poems were?"

"Just like the ones you showed me before, babe. And there are two of them. You want me to bring them up to you?"

"No – I need a break from this data. I'll come down to Ops and pick them up."

She let her voice get as flirtatious as she dared over the comm. "Are you about, um... due for a break?"

The whistles and hoots she heard in the background told her that just in case Nazim hadn't gotten the point, his co-workers certainly had.

"Shut up, you assholes. Um... not you, Chryssie. The other assholes. Oh – shit. Wait."

Chryssie's embarrassment dissolved as she laughed at Nazim's discomfiture at his slip-up– she couldn't help it. He always tried to be such a gentleman – he _never_ used coarse language around her – and now it was going to be interesting to see which one of them was blushing hardest when they got together.

That said, she was pretty sure that she didn't have the nerve to show her face in Operations just now.

"Yeah, Nazim – how about you meet me up here, after all."

Five minutes later, they managed to meet in one of the traditionally emptier corridors near Sickbay. He'd kissed her, then – too briefly to suit her, but Nazim was very protective of Chryssie's reputation, and a lady, he averred, ought not to be seen engaging in public displays of affection with a man. Even if that man was her boyfriend, and had been for quite some time.

Breaking away, he handed her a piece of paper with a flourish.

"See what you think of these, Madam Co-Editor."

Holding the paper slightly away from her – she'd left her reading glasses by the computer – she read:

~00~

**Volo**

And had you only known that just to fly

Would fill some of the spaces in your heart

You never took the time to wonder why

(You know you'd turned denial to an art)

~00~

So when the time had come at last to start

Another life, one that was far away

From everything you knew, you could depart

From home – for you had never wished to stay

~00~

And God – you hate to sound like a cliché

But there you were, with everything to prove

With rules you found too senseless to obey

And minds that were too uninspired to move

Those minds were wrong – despite their grave concern

"No-win" was something you would never learn.

~00~

"So... another sonnet," she murmured. "But the last one was Petrarchan – this one's... yes, it's Spenserian." Warming to the subject, she went on, "It's about the rhyme scheme, really, because – "

"Not _now_, Chryssie. Read the other one, and tell me what you think of it."

~00~

**Intriguing**

**Meters**

~00~

Never did I imagine that little

Old me would start such a fuss with my

Tired little ditties and oddly-formatted verses.

~00~

Though now that it's happened, may I admit to being

Excited by all the attention I'm getting?

Love and adulation being heaped on my work, which had

Long been used to sitting – unread, unappreciated – in a journal

In a drawer, where no one would ever see it.

Now everyone is wondering who I am.

Go ahead and wonder some more.

~00~

Nazim's curiosity was getting the better of him. "What about this one, babe? It doesn't rhyme or anything – so what is it?"

She giggled. "Another acrostic. It's a poem with two messages – the one it says outright, the other it spells with the initial letters in each line. This time, the mystery poet decided to write about herself. Or himself. Or whoever."

Without explaining, she handed the paper back to Nazim, who examined it anew before snorting briefly with laughter as well.

"I'm not telling."

* * *

_**Never thought I'd be calling a 5,000+ word chapter short - but I guess it is, comparatively.**_

_**Chapter is short. Story, it seems, will be very long indeed. I hope I'm not boring you to death.**_

_**And if I'm not, reviewing would be a great way to tell me so, wouldn't it?**_

And finally...

If you're interested - and these things interest me way too much - In Latin, "Volo" means all of the following: _ I want, I wish, I am willing, to fly, speed, move rapidly._

And I think a single verb that can do all that is rather awesome, all things considered. It is, in my humble opinion, a Starfleet kind of verb.


	20. La Raison ne Connaît Point

_**Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point. **_

_(The heart has its reasons which reason knows not.) **  
~Blaise Pascal **_

_**

* * *

**_

"So, what seems to be the problem, Keenser?"

"Nah, Doc – there's nae problem with him. It's with wee Ensign Cirkin – Keenser seems to think there's somethin' the matter with... him? Her?" Scotty stopped, nonplussed.

"Frankly, I've never been able to tell – and too embarrassed to ask, tellin' the truth. So... Keenser?"

McCoy could understand Scotty's difficulty; seriously, in the two-plus years that Keenser had been with the crew, he'd never been able to reliably tell exactly what the hell _species_ he even was – which was honestly more than a little embarrassing. Especially since Keenser wasn't going to tell him.

Of course, Keenser had been delighted when Cirkin had shown up with a group of transfers earlier this year– because, well... whatever Keenser was, Cirkin was another one. As a result – and because of Cirkin's previous training – the two...

_...**whatever** the fuck they are – how the hell am **I** supposed to know? Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a xenobiologist..._

...were working happily together in Engineering.

And now Keenser was muttering under his breath in Scotty's direction; for reasons unknown to McCoy, Keenser was completely freaked out by him, and never showed up at Sickbay without someone else – usually Scotty – by his side to act as intermediary.

Keenser spoke perfectly acceptable Standard, and functioned admirably as part of the Engineering team – but if McCoy had ever heard Keenser's voice, he was certain it had been by accident. Scotty was pretty sure that there had been some kind of "traumatic doctor issues" at some point in Keenser's past – but there wasn't really much point discussing it, even assuming he'd wanted to.

"All right, then," McCoy said with more than a touch of exasperation in his tone, "I'll try this again. What makes you think there's a problem with Cirkin?"

Keenser inclined his head toward Scotty, muttering unintelligibly again.

"He says she's been actin' a little... off, maybe... for the past couple weeks – ever since our shore leave on Starbase 84. Can't seem to be more exact than that – just that she isn'a actin' like herself."

The chief engineer shrugged eloquently. "To be honest, Doc, it's not like I can tell any difference. Cirkin never says much – always wants the Gamma Shift, so it's not often that we work together. I've always thought... _she_, is she, then? That she was uncommon quiet for an engineer – she seems to like it best when she's workin' on her own, and she's good enough at what she does that I don't mind lettin' her, most o' the time."

Scotty suddenly turned a suspicious eye toward Keenser. "Ye havenae been makin'... _advances _toward wee Cirkin now, have ye?"

Keenser's physiology was not such that he could blush – or really even change facial expression all that much, come to think of it – but McCoy saw evidence of embarrassment from the way his gaze dropped to the floor at that question.

That was the "aha moment" for the two humans.

"Don't you think that could explain why she's acting – _off,_ as you say – around you, Ensign Keenser? She shot you down when you asked her out, and now she's embarrassed when you try to talk to her?" Because that sure as hell made sense to Leonard – God knew he'd had something similar happen to him when he was a kid trying to get lucky. Plenty of times.

"Keenser," Scott's tone was reproachful. "Could ye not have told me about that _before _we came wastin' the doctor's time?"

Keenser looked at first as though he might protest – but then seemed to think better of it, instead subsiding into sullen silence. Without any further comment – but with a baleful glare at both Scott and McCoy – he turned and stalked, grumbling, out of Sickbay.

Scotty watched him go before turning back with a sigh. "Sorry 'bout that, Leonard. Guess I should have asked him about some o' this nonsense before we came bargin' in on you."

"Nah, Scotty – it's no big deal. I could call Cirkin in and look her over myself, but I'm not sure how much good it'd do. I've only met her the once when that last bunch of transfers came on board back in – what was that? February? Whenever it was – I know I haven't seen her since then, so I wouldn't be in any position to know if she was actin' like herself or not."

He smirked wryly at the Chief Engineer. "And if _her _actin' like _her_self is anything like _him _actin' like _him_self – well, then, my friend, I begin to understand why one of the first things you did once you got here was to build that still down there. You're in charge of a bunch of nut jobs."

Scott looked as though he couldn't decide whether to be offended or amused by McCoy's observation – then shook his head with a laugh.

"Can't say as I can argue with you there, Leonard. Though you, my friend, seem to be a pretty frequent visitor to that wee still o'mine – so what do you suppose that says about who you're in charge of?" He was grinning at a spot over McCoy's shoulder – and the doctor had a fair idea as to who was the recipient of that grin.

"He's in charge of the finest Medical team in Starfleet, Mr. Scott." Chris Chapel was the model of businesslike efficiency as she came into the CMO's office, giving Scotty an exaggerated glower. "And _you,_ my friend, had better watch what you say about them – because they'll be the ones taking care of you the next time you install one of your thingamabubbies upside-down and blow a hole in yourself."

Scotty drew himself up to his full height – and did his best to look affronted. "I'll have ye know, Lieutenant Chapel, that we have no thingamabubbies in the Engineering Bay. And if we did, we'd certainly not be installin' them upside-down."

The two of them managed to pretend to be offended by one another for just a matter of seconds before bursting into laughter. McCoy rolled his eyes at them; he was happy for Christine that she'd found – well, whatever it was that she seemed to have found – with Scotty, and she certainly seemed happy as well. But, seriously...

"You two wanna take this show someplace else? Because _some_ of us – '' he gave Christine a significant look – "have work to get done around here, even if neither of you seem to."

"Oh, as _if_, Leonard." Chris was having none of that. "You know as well as I do that the most action we've seen all day was an ingrown toenail – so you can get down off that high horse of yours right now."

He had to laugh; as always, his head nurse knew how to take him down a peg or two better than pretty much anybody. "True – but even you have to admit, Christine, that an ingrown toenail on an Edosian is a little tougher to treat than one on a humanoid. Hell – took me ten minutes just to _find _his toenail. He coulda reminded me that they were retractable..."

Scotty watched the interaction between Chris and Leonard, shaking his head yet again. "Not that this subject isn't absolutely fascinatin' – because it is, of course – but I think I'll be takin' myself back down to Engineering, if it's all the same to the two of you."

McCoy rolled his eyes at him. "I'd say it's about damn time you do that, Scotty. Don't let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out, either."

In spite of himself, the Chief Engineer found himself laughing at that. "Ye'll know, I hope, that there aren't any doors that could possibly do that to me anywhere on this ship – pneumatics are great for that, Doc."

"But..." he continued, a suspiciously gleeful light in his eye, "that's not to say that there's _nothing_ on board that can hit you in the –"

Scott was interrupted by a high-pitched squeak of startled outrage – and Leonard, to his surprised amusement, quickly came to the conclusion that Scotty had indeed just smacked his head nurse on the rear end.

And he obviously found himself pretty damned amusing for having done so, as well.

Smiling down at a blushing, indignant Chapel, he continued, "Now, of course there are some more worth the hittin' than others..."

Scotty earned a truly impressive glare for his trouble. Leonard, for one, had to admire how well he took that; most of the crew were damn near as scared of Chapel as they were of McCoy, and she could send grown men running for cover with her patented "Glare of Death."

"Monty," she hissed, "not _now_."

To Leonard's astonishment, Scott just laughed, reaching up to pat her gently on the cheek with a wicked grin on his face. "That's not what ye said last night, _mo ghaol_."

"I am _standing right here_, for God's sake!" Scotty got every bit of McCoy's best bellow. "Get your horny ass out of my Sickbay, and get your grimy paws off of my nurse – and do it right now!"

Chuckling, Scotty beat a hasty retreat – leaving a scarlet-faced Chapel behind.

"Shit, Leonard – I'm sorry about that," she said quickly. "I just never know when..."

"When that crazy asshole is gonna act like a crazy asshole?" He smiled at her understandingly. "Yeah – I get that. Though what you see in him, Chris, is frankly beyond me."

If such a thing were possible, her face got even redder. "How about I spare you those details, eh, Leonard?"

"Bones? You down there?"

Much to McCoy's relief – and no doubt to Chapel's as well – the conversation was mercifully cut short by the doctor's comm.

"Yeah, Jim – right here. What's up?"

"You, ah... busy or anything?"

And that, Leonard knew, was Jim's "I need to talk to you about something" voice.

Well, all right – it was also his "I've picked up what I think might be an alien STD" voice, but he knew for a fact that Jim hadn't been screwing any aliens recently.

Hadn't been screwing _anybody _recently, actually.

"Not that busy, no – you wanna come down here, or shall I come up there?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. I'll come down there. See you in a minute."

Christine looked at the communicator on Leonard's desk as though it were actually Jim before turning her attention back to the CMO. "What do you suppose is the matter with him?"

"What makes you think something's the _matter_ with him?" Now, McCoy had just been thinking the exact same thing – but some weird, defensive part of him didn't feel so great about other people being able to see through Jim, as well.

Chris gave him a withering look in return. "Because he's been through a lot recently, maybe? Because of... shit, whatever it is he does or doesn't have going on with Spock? Because you're always where he goes when there's something the matter with him? Take your pick." With a dismissive toss of her head, she turned and left McCoy's office.

_She's a pain in the ass,_ Leonard mused. _But she's a perceptive pain in the ass._

Not long after, Jim appeared in his doorway, looking uncharacteristically tentative.

"Hey, Bones. You busy?"

"We've already established that I'm not, haven't we? Now get your ass in here – and close the door behind you. We don't need my whole staff eavesdropping on our every word."

A disembodied voice came from somewhere outside the room. "We don't _eavesdrop_, Leonard! We _monitor_!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake... go _monitor _somebody else, Christine!" Bones shook his head in mock disgust – but was pleased to notice that she'd made Jim laugh.

Unnecessarily, he gestured toward where Jim always sat, anyway, and waited until his friend had dropped into a graceful sprawl in the chair.

And then he waited some more.

"Ah... Jim? Hello – anybody in there?" It wasn't like Jim to be so quiet for so long.

Hell, it wasn't like him to be quiet, period.

"What? Oh, yeah, Bones. Ummm... yeah."

"Jim. What the hell's the matter with you, anyway? You come down here – I'm guessing to talk with me – and then you just sit there staring at my –"

"...I'm sleeping with Spock."

Whatever Bones had been expecting to hear at that moment, that had _not_ been it. "Wait – would you mind repeating that? Or rather – don't, actually. Not under any circumstances."

"No – not like that, Bones. Just... _sleeping_. With him. You know."

McCoy tried then to regain his composure – or at least some of it. "Sleeping with the hobgoblin?"

All of a sudden, it occurred to him. "And that's been going on since – shot in the dark, here – since back at the starbase?"

Jim simply nodded – _trust Bones to figure that part out right away_.

"Can't say I was expecting _that_ particular development, Jim, but it's not like it's unprecedented – you know I couldn't even begin to count how many times you and I bunked together at the Academy... or here on board when we needed to."

And of course, that was true – they'd shared a bed on many occasions; sometimes Jim had been too ill (or too drunk) to stay alone, sometimes Bones had been too depressed (or too drunk) to be left alone, and sometimes, things had just gone to shit to such a degree that neither of them could bear to be alone. There had never been the remotest stirrings of romance between the two of them; it was simply a matter of being there, of providing comfort to one another.

That such a thing had happened between Jim and Spock in the wake of Jim's near-abduction and the subsequent revelation of his time on Tarsus IV – oddly, it wasn't nearly as surprising as it probably ought to have been.

"I know, Bones. But this – I don't know... it's just... different."

Leonard found himself staring, dumbfounded, and his best friend. _Does the stupid S.O.B honestly not **get** this? _

_Then it's time to drop the bomb, McCoy..._

"Because you were never in love with me, and you're in love with him."

Jim sat straight up, a shocked look on his face. He opened his mouth as if to deny it – and closed it again.

And opened it again.

And closed it – and dropped his head into both hands.

Bones strained to hear Jim's next words – spoken as they were through his hands, and addressed as they were to his floor in barely more than an anguished whisper.

"Fuck, Bones... I _love_ him. What am I gonna do now?"

"You tell him. That simple."

Jim raised his head then to look at his best friend as though he'd suddenly lost his mind.

"Simple?" He sputtered. "_Simple? _ Christ, Bones – do you know how much time and effort I had to put into just getting him to be my _friend_? And now you think I oughta tell him that... oh, God – that I _love_ him? Shit – this time he'd probably skip the strangling stage and just break my neck."

_And the hell of it is,_ Bones realized, _the kid really thinks that. Poor bastard._

"You really don't get it, do you?"

Jim genuinely looked as though he had no idea what Leonard was talking about. "Get what?"

"That Spock is every bit as much in love with you as you are with him. I think you're just about the only one on the ship who hasn't got that figured out yet."

Jim's expression went from disbelief, to hope, and back to disbelief again in the space of just a few seconds – _cockiest son of a bitch in the galaxy, and about this he's got no self confidence at all_, Leonard mused.

"I just... I don't think so, Bones."

"You don't think so." McCoy blew out a short, exasperated breath. "Why the hell would you say that?"

"Because," Jim said to Leonard's floor, "Shit, I don't know, Bones – if he loved me, I – I'd be able to _tell_, don't you think?"

"Holy fuck, Jim – didya hear what you just said? That you'd be able to _tell_ if he had feelings for you? This is Spock we're talking about here, in case you've forgotten. _Spock_ – who represses his emotions so hard that he's convinced himself he doesn't even _have_ 'em? And who's gotta be hiding his feelings for you every bit as much as you're hiding yours for him, wouldn't you think? 'Cause hell, it ain't _Vulcan_ to fall in love, is it? And you just damn well know he'd _never_ think you loved him."

Leonard knew he'd finally gotten through to Jim on some level when he didn't have some kind of quick rejoinder – in fact, Jim was just sitting there staring at him as though he'd started speaking another language or something.

_Now I'm doing advice for the lovelorn? How it is that I get myself into these messes, I'll never know..._

"Okay, Jim. Let's – I hate to even say it, but let's be a little logical, here. You came in here tellin' me you're sleeping with Spock. So... how 'bout you tell me how that works."

As Jim shot straight up in his chair, an indignant response on his lips, Bones raised a preemptive hand to stop him.

"Wrong, Jimmy-boy. This isn't where you get all outraged and tell me it's none of my business. Because of _course_ it's none of my business – except you've _made_ it my business now. It was you who called down here, all 'Bones? You busy?' in that tone of voice that sounds like you lost your puppy or something. It was _you _who told me about your little Vulcan slumber party to begin with. And it ain't like I really wanna hear about it, I'll be honest – but dammit, Jim, for right now, I'm not the doctor, I'm your best friend."

If he hadn't been so goddamn ticked off, Leonard would probably have thought Jim's stunned expression at that moment was hilarious; his eyes were wide open, and he kept opening and closing his mouth soundlessly.

_But at least I managed to shut him the hell up._

"Sure – the thought of you and the hobgoblin... together... makes my blood run cold sometimes. But you love him, for whatever the hell reason. And for once in his computer-brained life, he's kicked logic to the curb and fallen for you like a sack of bricks – whether or not you choose to believe that. And I can prove it."

He leaned forward in his seat until his face was mere inches from Jim's. "You breathe this to another living soul, James Tiberius Kirk, and I'll kill you and make it look like an accident – you hear me?"

Still silent – and obviously baffled – Jim nodded.

"You wanna know how many times Spock spent the night with Nyota?"

It was plain by Jim's expression that that was actually about the very _last_ thing he wanted to know – but Bones was on a roll, and damned if he was going to stop now.

"Never happened, Jim. _Not one time._ Because it was 'too uncomfortable,' he told her. It was a 'breach of his boundaries and his privacy,' he told her."

Leonard actually found himself making air quotes with two fingers – even though he always thought that looked girlier than hell. "They were in an honest-to-goodness _relationship_, Jim – a long-term one – and he couldn't bring himself to hold her in his arms while she slept."

_Stupid green-blooded bastard_, he thought – not for the first time. _How anyone could not want to..._

He shook his head as if to clear it of the vivid image he had of how Nyota had looked that morning as she slept next to him, her silky dark hair fanned out around her sweet, peaceful face on the pillow.

_Now's not the time for that, McCoy..._

"And now... you're tellin' me that he's spent the night with you – what, every night?" He paused as Jim nodded again. "_Every night,_ for the past two weeks. And not even _he_ can go two weeks without sleeping – so at least some of the time he's with you, he's managing to sleep as well?"

Jim swallowed hard – and Leonard had to listen closely to hear what he said next.

"Yeah... umm... every night."

Honestly, it really had surprised Jim at first that Spock had managed to relax that much – to allow so much physical contact – with him. But they'd fallen into an oddly comfortable pattern, he and Spock. Each night, Spock would come to Jim's quarters to meditate – or at least that had been the stated intent for the first few nights – but at last, by some sort of unspoken mutual agreement, they'd end up side by side in Jim's bed, carefully not touching one another. Jim was fairly certain that Spock had taken to staying with him at night to make sure he didn't have any more of his nightmares – or at least to be nearby to wake him up if he did.

Now every morning, Jim would awaken after a solid night's sleep (and he couldn't begin to remember when he'd had _one _of those, much less fourteen of them in a row) with his head on Spock's chest, and held securely in Spock's arms. _And Spock managed to hold on pretty good, too, for a guy who was sound asleep at the time. _

Sometimes, Jim was able to doze off again so that he really was asleep when Spock woke up and got out of bed; other times, he faked it – because he was pretty sure that neither one of them really wanted to talk about Jim's leg thrown across Spock's.

Or Spock's fingers tangled in Jim's hair, for that matter. Jim was pretty sure that wouldn't be a comfortable topic for discussion.

He'd come to the conclusion that Spock would only have been able to tolerate that kind of contact if he'd already had plenty of practice sleeping with another person – which could only have happened during his time with Nyota.

_But – if that never happened..._

Jim's mind was reeling.

But Bones was still speaking. "And you forget – I know how you sleep, Jim. You might start out the night all prim and proper on your own side of the bed – but you're as bad as a damn puppy, the way you snuggle in your sleep. You'll have draped yourself all over Spock before you've been in bed for two hours. And – I'm guessing he's... _tolerating_ that?"

The blush rising on Jim's cheeks told his friend everything he needed to know. Bones bit back a smile; he knew this was deadly serious for Jim – but honestly, watching two intelligent adults who were obviously crazy about one another tiptoe around each other like this was pretty funny.

He sighed at Jim's unhappy expression. _And damned if it wasn't kind of sweet, too. _

"Jim." Leonard reached over to grasp Jim's shoulders, and gave him a gentle shake. "You've gotta know that I'd probably rather make out with a salt vampire than say this – because the mental image I get of you and the hobgoblin makes my skin crawl if I think about it too much. But dammit, man – God only knows why, but it's obvious that he makes you happy. And as little as you seem inclined to believe it, it's equally obvious – at least to the rest of us – that you're far and away the most important thing in his life."

He let his hands drop from Jim's shoulders back down to his own knees, but continued to lean in close – because Jim had absolutely no personal space, and sometimes he listened better when Leonard was right in his face.

"Shit, Jim – I can't believe you've got me talking about relationship crap – but since I am, you better damn well listen." He shook his head incredulously at his own words. "I know the thought of telling him scares you to death – he might not feel the same way, you're thinking, or some such shit. And yeah – it absolutely is a hell of a risk, no two ways about it."

Wasn't that long ago that he'd told Nyota how he felt – and Leonard still remembered being scared shitless at what she might (or worse, might not) say in return; wasn't like he didn't understand how Jim was feeling.

"But it's like any big risk, Jim – and you risk a lot to get a lot, you know that. This risk is worth it for sure – I'm more certain of that than I've been of anything for a long time – but it's gonna have to be you to make the first move. 'Cause as much as I make fun of him for bein' a cold-blooded machine, Spock really does have a hell of a hard time dealin' with his feelings – and bein' in love with you has to be scarin' the living shit out of him. He sure as hell ain't gonna be sayin' it to you first – you're gonna have to start it off."

"You think – you think he's _scared_, Bones?" Jim had a hard time wrapping his brain around that concept. "Scared of _me_?"

"Scared of how you make him feel, I think is more like it. Scared that he loves you, but you don't love him back. Which," Leonard concluded, leaning back in his chair, "is why you have to tell him. And do it soon, Jim. For both your sakes."

Jim dropped his face down into his hands. "You don't get it, Bones," he said, voice muffled. "It just isn't that easy."

~0~

* * *

~0~

"It is not as simple as you would seem to believe, Nyota."

"You're wrong, sweetheart – it _is_ simple. Not _easy_ – _never _that – but not complicated, either." She reached over to put a comforting hand on Spock's shoulder as he sat cross-legged on her floor, leaning slightly against the side of her bed.

She'd found him about an hour ago, eating dinner alone in the Officers' Mess – which was odd in itself, as he nearly never ate without Jim these days. (And no, she rarely ate without Len, either – but that was another story.)

It hadn't occurred to her that something might be wrong until she tried repeatedly, and with limited success – to engage Spock in conversation. Her dinner companion – if he could even be called that at this point – was staring intently at an indeterminate spot on the wall over her shoulder.

"What's the matter, babe? You're a million miles away." Nyota waited, mentally counting the seconds until solemn brown eyes suddenly met hers again – and she knew she'd get the response that she'd been looking for.

"Such a statement, Nyota, is illogical in any possible sense in which it could have been intended. For one thing – at the _Enterprise's_ current speed, we are both far more than a million miles away from where we were even a fraction of a second ago. For another, it is obvious that were I indeed a million miles away from you, we would be unable to –"

_Mission accomplished. _ "I know, Spock." Nyota suppressed a small laugh. "Sometimes I have to get illogical to regain your attention – which you'd have to agree I'd lost pretty thoroughly just at that moment."

He had the grace to look somewhat guilty. "You are, unfortunately, quite correct – please accept my apologies for my rudeness. I assure you that it was unintentional."

Grasping his tray with both hands, he moved as if to stand. "I will excuse myself now, if you do not mind; I feel fairly certain that I would prove to be an inadequate dinner companion for you this evening."

Something _was_ wrong; Nyota didn't know what it was – though she certainly had her suspicions. She laid a gentle hand on his sleeve to stop him.

"Don't go, Spock. You've got something on your mind – that's pretty clear – and it might help to talk about it, don't you think?"

He looked dubious – which certainly came as no surprise – but didn't immediately refuse her offer. And that absolutely _did _come as a surprise.

With an astonishingly slight degree of persuasion, Nyota had been able to convince Spock to come back to her quarters for a heart-to-heart.

However, that "heart-to-heart" had consisted mostly of Nyota asking questions while Spock, for the most part, had answered in terse monosyllables or – more often – simply sat in miserable silence.

Through those questions, she eliminated all the things that could possibly have been wrong with Spock besides the issue that she suspected really _was_ the crux of his problem; his father was in excellent health, rebuilding on New Vulcan was progressing well, the crew in Science was performing admirably, and there were no disquieting personnel or mechanical issues on board the _Enterprise_.

_So_, Nyota thought – _I knew it all along. Now comes the hard part_...

She did her best to act affronted – and was glad (not for the first time) that Spock really sucked at accurately reading her emotions. "All right, Spock. What did that bastard Kirk do to you?"

And there wouldn't be long to wait before the indignant – for Spock, at least – response, she was certain.

Sure enough, he sat up even straighter than usual, and almost – _almost _– raised his voice as he turned to glare up at her where she sat propped up against her pillows.

"I assure you, Nyota, that Jim has done absolutely nothing of a negative nature in his dealings with me. Rather, he has behaved with only professionalism, respect and kindness – in short, in the same manner that he deals with all members of the crew."

He drew a breath, and Nyota could tell he was warming to the subject – she hadn't seen him acting so pissed off since Pavel read "The Day-Planner of Captain Awesome" on the bridge a few months back.

_Oh, Spock – babe, you've got it bad. _

It was an effort to bite back a smile – but she managed.

"Moreover, Nyota, I must strenuously object both to your assumptions about the captain's behavior toward myself – and especially to the insulting terminology by which you have referred to him. The captain has given you no reason –"

"I know, Spock. Really." Nyota could no longer keep from smiling. "And I'm sorry, honey – I was just baiting you a little."

She reached over to place a hand firmly on his shoulder – of course, there was no way she could keep him from getting up and stalking out, but she could at least signal her desire that he stay where he was.

"Please, Spock – don't be angry. And yes, I know – it's a human emotion. Except you forget that I don't buy that bullshit for a moment; not only are you half human yourself, my darling, but it's pretty clear to me that Vulcans are absolutely as capable of experiencing emotions as we inferior human types." She felt him relax – ever so slightly – under her hand, and patted his shoulder gently.

"If I have my guess, it's those emotions that are causing your difficulties just now – am I right?"

Spock turned away, his extended silence all the answer she needed.

_You forget, my dear,_ she thought as she gazed speculatively at the back of his head, _my specialty is reading unspoken language as well as spoken, and I know you as well as anybody on this ship. Almost._

"So... let's talk a little bit about Jim, shall we? His crisis at the starbase brought a lot of things into clearer focus for you, didn't they?"

As soon as she'd uttered Jim's name, Spock had whipped his head around to meet her eyes, a shocked look in his own. Then, as if embarrassed by the somewhat impulsive nature of that gesture, he took a deep breath and seemed to make an effort to compose himself.

"Without a doubt, Nyota, the attack upon the captain and the... adverse events associated with its aftermath have certainly had an effect upon the entire command crew."

Suddenly, he could no longer quite meet her eye, and his next remarks were addressed to the flowered afghan on the end of her bed. "However, I am uncertain of your meaning when you say that things have been brought into 'clearer focus' for me; I believe I am as capable as always of focusing on all important elements of a given situation."

She smiled at him in loving exasperation – and all of a sudden, she had simply had enough of (as Len would put it) all this pussy-footing around.

It had to end, and it was _going_ to end. Right now.

"All right then – I'll give you _this_ situation, and let's see how you focus on those elements, shall we?"

He looked back up at her, an unaccustomed wariness in his eyes – but she wasn't about to stop now.

"Your feelings for Jim have been growing slowly and steadily – and _obviously_, I might add – from friendship into... something much more over the past two years. When you nearly had him taken away from you a couple of weeks ago, it pushed you into the realization that you've fallen in love with him. And now that you _do_ realize that, you're scared to death and have absolutely no idea as to what – if anything – you should do about it."

She waited for a denial.

Or agreement.

Or – any kind of response at all, really...

But Spock simply sat there on her floor, still as a statue, stunned into silence yet again. Those wide brown eyes were looking straight at her – but Nyota strongly suspected that he was seeing something else entirely.

She felt sorry for him – she really did. Falling in love was terrifying, even if it was also wonderful. As she used to do to comfort him during the time when they were... together, she reached forward and ran her fingers gently through his silky black hair.

His eyes slipped closed, and he sighed heavily. "Nyota. I..." He trailed off helplessly, and rubbed a hand across his face in a gesture oddly reminiscent of something Jim did when he was overwhelmed.

He wouldn't appreciate it at all that her foremost thought was, _poor baby._

"Spock. It's all right. It'll be all right. You've got to know – well, actually, you probably have no idea – but... my God, Spock. Jim loves you every bit as much as you love him – and has for every bit as long, if not longer."

He quickly looked back up at her; those unbelievably intense eyes were practically burning a hole in her now. "You believe that Jim... that Jim is..."

"_In love with you_, Spock. You're the damn telepath, sweetheart – haven't you had any, well, impressions of that from all the time you've spent with him – and in such close contact as you two usually work?"

Impressions. In fact, part of what had been troubling Spock had been exactly that – the emotions that he couldn't help picking up from Jim... especially recently, when they had spent so much time in exceedingly close proximity to one another.

Spock had been surprised to discover that Jim was unusually adept at blocking his own psychic signals, and that he was in fact doing so for most of his waking hours. However, he was unsure as to whether Jim actually even realized he was able to build a wall of sorts around his own thoughts and feelings.

Then Jim's voice was suddenly in his mind; "_I keep telling you I'm extraordinary. When are you finally going to believe me?"_

_Extraordinary._

Of course Jim realized it. Whatever his reasons, he was doing it on purpose.

But... sometimes when Jim was not concentrating – or when he was sleeping – at those times, the emotions were nearly overpowering.

Affection, warmth... and _longing_, and something much more... visceral. Much like the – _desire _was truly the accurate term for it – that Spock found himself guiltily fighting during the times when he would awaken in the middle of the night to discover that, yet again, he was clasping Jim's body tightly against his own.

_Desire. Longing. Affection. _

_Longing – for what?_

_Or... for whom?_

_Could it be possible that Jim feels..._

Nyota watched with a sympathetic smile as Spock assimilated these new ideas; to almost anyone else, his face would have seemed an emotionless mask, but she was able to watch the subtle changes in his expression as his thoughts raced.

Surprise – amazement. Disbelief... hope.

Finally, he spoke. "Nyota. Your observations of Jim are usually quite accurate and based on empirical evidence. Upon what do you base your conjecture that he is... in love with me?"

Only Spock could make an utterly emotional question like, "Do you think he really likes me?" sound as though it were a topic for an upcoming symposium.

She thought of the long – _really long_ – list of "tells" that showed her that Jim was in love with Spock. That list wasn't going to convince Spock – but she knew what would.

"I know it's true – even if I didn't clearly see it for myself – because Len says so."

And then she simply sat back and watched Spock's face again – and she could tell the exact moment that the true importance of that statement hit home. Because it was an established fact that if anyone – _anyone_ – truly knew Captain James T. Kirk, it was Doctor Leonard H. McCoy.

"That's all you really need to hear, isn't it? Because – well, seriously, Spock. You know Jim better than almost anyone. I don't know – with all you two have been through recently, maybe in some ways you know him better than any of the rest of us. So you know – you've _got_ to know – how much you mean to him."

_And now comes the hard part._

"And now that you realize all of this, Spock, it's only logical that you let Jim know how you feel."

If she'd thought he'd looked shocked before – well, that was nothing compared to the look on his face now.

"I cannot possibly do such a thing, Nyota."

Spock stopped suddenly, froze. Realized – too late – that what he had just said was tantamount to a confession that he was indeed in love with Jim.

She reached forward to stroke his hair again. "Of course you can, Spock. People do it all the time."

"It is not as simple as you would seem to believe, Nyota."

"You're wrong, sweetheart – it _is_ simple. Not _easy_ – _never _that – but not complicated, either."

He sighed, almost impatiently. "You do not understand. Declarations of emotion of any sort – much less of romantic love and attraction – are nearly unheard-of among my race. What you suggest is..."

He shook his head, as if to negate the very idea. "Jim is human; it is common among you to express such things. If he had such feelings for me, then he would..."

"No, Spock. He wouldn't. And he won't." Now it was Nyota's turn to sigh impatiently. "Do you truly not understand that?"

He looked genuinely confused. "If it is as you say, and Jim does indeed... have feelings for me, then why do you say so adamantly that he will not make such a declaration?"

"For a genius, Spock, you can be an idiot sometimes. This is Jim – _Jim_ – we're talking about. Jim, who would never knowingly make you uncomfortable. Jim, who would automatically assume that even if he did love you, that you couldn't possibly love him in return. He'd never want to burden you with that."

"Forgive me, Nyota, if I seem obtuse; it is not deliberate, I assure you. It seems that my current state of distraction has had an effect on some of my cognitive abilities. Why, then, do you say that Jim would assume I would not love him?"

_How, in fact, could anyone **not** love Jim?_

"Because..." She paused, considering. "Spock, how much do you know about when Jim was a child?"

"Very little; it is a period about which he is quite reticent."

"...Yes. And there's a reason for that, Spock." She leaned forward then, surprising him with her sudden fierce expression. "Which I'll tell you – though if you ever, ever let Jim know _in any way_ that I've told you, I'll kill you. Painfully. Then Len will bring you back, just so he can kill you, too."

Spock responded with a brief nod – Nyota had known, of course, that he could be counted on to keep any secrets she shared. It was simply how he operated.

So she told the story – with as few elaborations and as little sentimentality as possible – of Jim's childhood without his mother, who'd almost immediately chosen Starfleet over parenthood. Of his time with Frank, who had thought nothing of neglecting Jim – and much worse – when he was too tiny to defend himself. Of his love, bordering on hero-worship, for his brother Sam – who had been unable to take any more of the abuse at home and run away, leaving Jim on his own. Of how Frank had finally tired of Jim and thrown him out of his own home, to be raised by strangers on a far-flung colony.

And though Nyota did not know the name of the colony, or what had happened to Jim there... Spock knew, and barely suppressed a shudder at the thought of what he had seen in Jim's mind.

"Spock – I hope the irony of the situation isn't lost on you. Vulcans are supposedly emotionless, ruled by logic, but you – you have never in your life been denied love. You've had your mother's unconditional love, and – yes – even that of your father. You know that. You've earned the love of your friends here on the _Enterprise _– and..."

She paused, somewhat uncomfortably. "You know I loved you, even when you didn't love me. And though I'm no longer _in_ love with you, you know you'll always be dear to me. Spock – you, who have always claimed not to require such a thing, have never had to go without being loved."

Nyota closed her eyes, painfully swallowing around the lump in her throat. She'd cried when Len had told her Jim's story – and was about to cry again, just thinking of it.

"He's only ever wanted love, Spock – and he's had to learn to do without, again and again. Len thinks he came to the conclusion a long time ago that it's because somehow he doesn't deserve it. After all, Len was the first real friend he'd had – and sure as hell the first person who cared enough about Jim to stick around, and to stand up for him. And all of us on the _Enterprise_? We're as close as he's ever gotten to an actual family – and it scares him to death that somehow he's going to lose us, just like he's lost everyone else he's ever cared about."

For once, Nyota felt that she'd nearly run out of words. "So... do you see? Jim would never think you'd love him. He never thinks that of anyone – haven't you seen him shrug off anything remotely like a compliment, and watched him behind that idiotic cocky facade he's got going on? He's not going to tell you, Spock. He just won't."

"Now you're going to have to decide whether you have the courage to tell him."

~0~

* * *

~0~

"You still up, darlin'?" Len's voice over the intercom sounded unnaturally loud in the empty room.

Nyota smiled at the comm as though it were Len himself. It had gotten rather late, but she hadn't been able to sleep after Spock left. "Yeah, babe – it's early yet. You about off duty?"

"Well, as a matter of fact –" Nyota drew a surprised breath as her door slid open, and Len came into the room, smiling warmly down at her. "Yes. I am about off duty."

He leaned down to where she was still sitting on her bed and gave her a sweet, slow kiss that, although not particularly passionate, still managed to make her toes curl.

And as though he'd read her thoughts, Len sat down next to her and pulled her feet into his lap, playfully tweaking her toes – which this evening were in a mismatched pair of toe socks.

"Doctor McCoy," she said with a pretend pout, "sometimes I think you just love me for my socks."

He was happy to play along. "Entirely untrue, Lieutenant Uhura. I _only_ love your socks."

She turned so that she was halfway on his lap, and able to snuggle into his shoulder – _because this man has shoulders that ought to be illegal, they're so gorgeous._

"You're not going to believe who was here chatting with me about matters of the heart tonight."

"Let me guess – was it the hobgoblin?"

She swatted him halfheartedly. "You have got to stop calling him that – but, yes. How could you possibly know that?"

He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Didn't actually know – it was just an educated guess. 'Cause while you were up here talkin' to Romeo, I had Juliet with me down in Sickbay."

Nyota unsuccessfully tried to stifle a giggle. "Oh, Jim would _not_ approve of that particular nickname, my love." She giggled again. "So, let's use it whenever we possibly can."

"Agreed. But – as little as I probably want to know the answer, I'm feeling a morbid urge to know. What did the hob – did _Spock_ have to say to you?"

"Well, long story short, we were right. Of course. He's in love with Jim – and he's finally figured it out. And I told him that he was going to have to man up, as it were, and tell Jim – that Jim would never say it first because he could never really believe that Spock felt the same way, and... well, you know the drill."

Len laughed, somewhat humorlessly. "I do know the drill. Sounds almost exactly like the conversation I just had with Jim. If the poor bastard hadn't been so miserable, I might have had to throw up because of all the godawful mush that was gettin' thrown around between the two of us."

Nyota tightened her arms around him. "Oh, yeah. You're so tough, aren't you, Dr. McGrumpy? You forget – I see right through you. And if you're not careful, I'm going to let everybody know that you're secretly a marshmallow – all sweet and gooey and mushy."

He tugged a strand of her hair. "Heartless wench – you'd do it, too, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat, _darlin'_." She smiled up at him – and damned if that smile didn't still stop him in his tracks, no matter how often he saw it. "But, seriously – what are we going to do about these two? If I told Spock to tell Jim, and you told Jim to tell Spock..."

"They'll both wimp out until one or the other of them can't take it anymore – and once that happens, I may never leave Sickbay again. It'll be absolutely nauseating once those two finally get it figured out."

He shook his head in mock disgust – not, of course, that Nyota was fooled for a moment. "But how long do you suppose it'll be 'til one of those idiots finally cracks? 'Cause I don't know about you, babe, but I'm not sure how much of this 'supportive best friend' crap I have in me."

She tilted her head up to gently kiss him on the cheek. "You do 'supportive best friend' better than anyone – it's part of why I love you so much. But – here's the good news. Pavel's birthday's tomorrow and first thing in the morning is when 'Ru is going to spring his whole surprise on him. He's sent you a message – you, and Jim, and Spock, and Scotty – we're all supposed to meet them for breakfast afterward. Hikaru said that if Pav says yes, he'll want us there to celebrate – and if he says no, then we're going to have to keep 'Ru from throwing himself out of the air lock."

That prompted another giggle – because the likelihood of Pavel saying no was... pretty well nonexistent.

"So, babe – I figure that with all the romance that's going to be in the air tomorrow, either Jim or Spock is bound to reach their breaking point sooner rather than later."

He attempted his most jaded glower – though it was a halfhearted effort at best. "And I hope to God that the romance will _only_ be in the air. Because if the _romance _ends up under the table in the Officers' Mess or in the turbolift, then I'm gonna throw up for sure."

* * *

**_For those of you who are reading both of my monster stories, you'll have noticed that we're just about to catch up to where "Both Ways" left off. Pavel's birthday - and the other stuff - will be next chapter. I'll be updating "Both Ways" soon - though not, as I'd originally planned, with a final chapter. Too much yet to happen, it turns out._**

**_If I haven't thanked you all for the really (seriously) mind-blowing support you've given me so far for this story, please let me do so now. To all of you who've put this story on alert or in your favorites - and especially to those of you who have reviewed - thank you so, so much. I simply cannot believe that the first person who reviews this chapter will be #500 - that just freaks me out._**

**_But in a good way. So keep reviewing, won't you?_**

**_XOXO_**

**_Lyri_**


	21. Into the Storm

_My sincerest apologies to anyone who happens to still be reading this after over a month (yikes!) between updates. My new job is wonderful, but is also kicking my butt in ways that I'd never imagined possible. One of those ways has been to eat nearly every moment of what used to be my spare time. _

_However, I'll try to do better now that I'm finally getting into the swing of things at work - especially since I've really, really missed writing, and reading, and all the other stuff I like to do around this part of cyberspace. Moreover, I already have most of the next chapter living in my head. _

_(We won't go into what else is rattling around in there...)_

* * *

_**"It is time to dare and endure."**_

~Winston Churchill

* * *

"What did you say these were? Bell-what?" Eleanora McCoy would have been scandalized at the way her baby boy was talking with his mouth full at the breakfast table.

"Not 'bell-anything,' you big dumb hick." Jim's affectionate tone was at odds with the insulting words. "They're _blini_."

Jim dodged a flying napkin that had been skillfully aimed at his head.

"Watch who you're calling a dumb hick, Mr. 'I don't _only_ have sex with farm animals.'" Nyota raised an eyebrow in a frighteningly Spock-like manner as Jim snorted a laugh in response. "Besides, he's _my_ big dumb hick, so back off, Farm Boy."

Leonard tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh before leaning over to peck Nyota on the cheek. "Gee, _thanks_, honey," he said in a syrupy-sweet tone. "I love it when you come to my defense like that."

He picked up another forkful of his breakfast – a plate of thin buckwheat pancakes rolled up and filled with sour cream and strawberry jam – and raised it as if in a toast.

"Blini, you say? Well, hell – whatever you call 'em, here's to whoever decided they oughta be put in the replicator. Probably clog every artery in a 100-meter radius, but damned if they're not worth it." With that, he stuck the fork into his mouth – and looked as blissfully happy about it as he had the previous ten times he'd done so this morning.

"That'd be Hikaru, then, Leonard." Scotty took a break from his own breakfast – he'd been putting away his own share of blini as well – to join the conversation.

"Though I don't mind tellin' you that gettin' the recipe exactly right was – pardon my French – an absolute bitch. 'Cause Sulu didn't want it '_almost _right,' mind you. These had to taste just like the ones he had in Russia, when it was Chekov's great-gran doin' the cookin' – and not one tiny bit different."

He shook his head, remembering the seemingly countless attempts he'd made to adjust the input to the replicators – only to be shot down, yet again, by Hikaru. "Ye'd never figure Sulu to be such a stickler – he's usually so easy-goin', you know – but I thought I might have to shove him out the air lock over these damnable wee pancakes."

Then he shrugged, returning to his breakfast. "But I'm with you, Doc – and I'm thinkin' they were worth the trouble."

Nyota watched with a mixture of appreciation and amazement at the sheer amount of food that the men around her were currently consuming. Not, of course, that she hadn't made a pretty good dent in the blini as well - after all, they _were_ really good. "You know how I told you that 'Ru is giving Pavel the hologram of that little place his Babushka's hometown for his birthday?" She turned to Len, who nodded his agreement. "This is supposed to be the finishing touch for Pavel's 'morning in Russia' – his Babushka's blini for breakfast."

Her eyes flitted up to the chronometer on the wall – not for the first time this morning (nor, if she admitted it, the second or the third, either.) It was getting to be about time for Hikaru and Pavel to join them for breakfast, according to the timetable 'Ru had laid out for her the other day. He'd planned to wake Pav up a little early for their customary morning run – and then to spring the surprise of the hologram on him at that point. He'd set the holoprogram to run for 100 minutes – but in his nearly minute-by-minute plan of the morning, Hikaru hadn't managed to decide exactly when he was going to present Pavel with the ring he'd so carefully designed just for this occasion.

"Why does the idea of doing this just scare the shit out of me, Nyota?" he'd asked when they'd met for dinner a couple of nights previously.

"Because it's scary, babe – that's why." Nyota had totally understood how Hikaru felt. "It's a big step, and even though you know you can be sure of Pav, you're just laying yourself right out there on the line all the same. Like I said – scary."

Now it had been just a bit over two hours since the time when 'Ru had said he was going to wake Pavel – and they ought to be coming in for breakfast at any time, now.

"Lookin' at the time isn't gonna make those two come in here any faster, sweetheart." Len had leaned in, and spoke quietly in her ear – and as always, he seemed to know just what she was thinking. "Besides – I'm guessing that Sulu doesn't need any help bein' nervous this morning. He'll be doin' that just fine all by himself."

His arm came around her – and felt every bit as wonderful as it always did. "And you know as well as I do that he's got nothing whatsoever to worry about. Our little Ariel is so head-over-heels in love with him that the poor kid can hardly see straight." Smiling, he reached up to absently brush a wayward strand of hair off of her cheek, his fingertips lingering in the lightest of caresses. "And considering he's our navigator, not bein' able to see straight could pose a problem, don't you think?"

Nyota briefly leaned into his shoulder before they separated, smiling to herself. _How could I not love this man?_

Spock had been nearly silent all morning – and though Nyota had been happy to note that he didn't seem upset after the rather intense discussion they'd had the previous evening, she also noticed that his glance seemed to land on Jim even slightly more than usual. For now, though, his focus was on the other side of the Officers' Mess.

"I believe that Hikaru and Pavel have arrived," he announced calmly to the table at large – then sat quietly back again and observed as his friends all seemed to go just a little bit insane.

Nyota leapt out of her chair, waving her arms to catch 'Ru and Pav's attention before she decided she simply couldn't wait to hear what they had to say – though the way her two best friends were beaming at them all left little doubt as to how Hikaru's proposal had been received.

"Well?" she called across the room.

Pavel, grinning like a loon, held up his left hand and pointed to the ring on his finger – and Nyota found herself jumping up and down, clapping her hands and squealing like a little girl. Jim and Scotty hooted and pounded the table before pounding one another on the shoulder – and hooting and pounding the table all over again.

Len couldn't even pretend to be grumpy or cynical at this point, but smiled warmly at Sulu and Chekov – and at his normally calm, classy Chief Communications Officer who couldn't care less just now that she was making a spectacle of herself in front of half of Alpha Shift.

Spock, of course, watched the proceedings with his usual blend of tolerance and bemusement – but although he certainly did not participate in the rather boisterous celebration, for once he chose not to disapprove of such an emotional and illogical display.

"Wait 'til ye try what's fer breakfast, lad – ye've never had anythin' like it!" Scotty, yet again, was talking around a mouthful of blini. Then he smacked his forehead with his open palm. "But wait – o'course ye've had somethin' like it before. That was the whole idea. But – I'm keepin' me big mouth shut, now."

Pavel looked slightly baffled until he looked down at everyone's plates and saw the last of his Russian birthday surprises from Hikaru.

"Blini? Are you _serious_?"

McCoy couldn't help but notice that the kid was looking a little shell-shocked; didn't much blame him, of course.

"That's what they are, Ariel – and your great-granny's recipe, to boot." The doctor kicked out an empty chair, and watched with amusement as Pavel dropped into it wordlessly. It took a lot to render Chekov speechless – but this seemed to be doing the trick.

After eating a perfectly obscene amount of his Babushka's blini, Pavel sighed contentedly and rubbed his stomach, smiling with undisguised adoration at his brand-new fiancé. "So, are you _always_ going to be this good to me, 'Karu? Because I think maybe I should marry you right now."

Hikaru smiled, but shook his head and held up both hands as if to stop Pavel right there. "Oh, no you don't. There are way too many people back home who would skin us alive if they weren't there for our wedding. In fact, I've got a conference call set up for tonight with Noginsk and Yekaterinburg so we can talk to the whole family."

Standing up from the table, he grabbed Pavel by the hand and hauled him, protesting, out of his chair. "I figured we'd probably have some big news for them – 'cause I know I'm a cocky bastard, but I was honestly pretty sure you'd say yes – but even if you didn't, they could all still wish you a happy birthday."

The command crew left Scotty and McCoy, squeezing onto the turbolift together to head for the bridge for the beginning of Alpha Shift.

"So, Chekov," Kirk said with a hint of a wicked smile in his voice, "this has already been a pretty big birthday for you, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Captain," Nyota said with a hint of exasperation, "Do you think we can make it through a turbolift ride without you making some lewd speculation about Hikaru and Pavel's love life?"

The captain stuck out his lip in a pretend pout. "You always spoil my fun, Lieutenant."

Nyota did her level best to glower at him – but then neither of them could keep from laughing, which ended up ruining the effect rather thoroughly.

The turbolift doors opened – and they were all stunned to see that the normally quiet Gamma Shift was in an uproar.

"Captain – I'm glad you're here." Lieutenant Arex's voice - normally a nearly robotic monotone - sounded unusually anxious; it was usually difficult to decipher the Edosian's moods by his facial expressions, but he was pacing the deck and wringing two of his three hands.

"Less than sixty seconds ago, we were hailed by a craft of some sort, but we've been unable to identify the source of the transmission."

Quickly, the Communications officer on duty rose to make room for Nyota, who then began to rapidly enter information into her computer to try to find who – or what – was calling them.

"Any luck, Lieutenant?"

The good-natured teasing from only moments ago was gone from Jim's voice; this was most definitely Captain James T. Kirk, and the group of friends who had been laughing in the turbolift had transitioned immediately and seamlessly into their roles as the command crew who rightly gave Kirk his reputation as the finest captain in Starfleet.

"Not yet, sir. Continuing to adjust the Universal Translator – sometimes just a little difference in calibration is effective – but, no. No progress as yet, sir." Nyota turned back to her work.

"Captain," Hikaru called over from his station at the helm, "I think I may have something here."

On the helmsman's monitor, there was the tiniest of anomalies, moving at a slightly different rate than the other objects in its vicinity.

"Spock, can you lock onto it for further analysis?" Kirk's voice held just a hint of urgency.

"I have already done so, sir. It does indeed appear to be a very small craft – approximately the correct size for a scout ship – but with an energy configuration unlike any I have previously encountered." Spock, for the first time, looked up from his station. "It is, sir, most unusual."

"Indeed it is, Commander. Mr. Chekov, keep a lock on the craft's position, in case we have to either approach or avoid it."

"Done, sir."

"Captain Kirk," came Nyota's voice from her console, "I think I may have isolated the signal."

"Very well, Lieutenant – let's hear it."

First there was static, then an odd whining that finally resolved itself into the Universal Translator's version of human speech.

"_U.S.S. Enterprise. Captain James Kirk. We have been waiting for you."_

Kirk took the two steps over to the Communications console. "Well, then, your wait is over - because here I am."

He paused, waiting for a reply that was not forthcoming; when he spoke again, there was an undercurrent of irritation in his tone that would have been lost to the Universal Translator, but was easily discernible to the bridge crew.

"I'm here, the _Enterprise_ is here – and for reasons that we have yet to establish, you're here as well. What, exactly, do you require of us?"

The ensuing silence was broken only by the quiet hiss of static.

"They've cut off their transmission, Captain." Uhura spoke without looking up from her console, as she continued to try to reestablish contact. "They were here, and then they weren't – and the technology they're using isn't anything our systems currently recognize." She blew out a short, frustrated breath. "For the time being, at least, sir, we're communicating with them – whoever they are – on their terms."

At last she looked up to make eye contact with her commanding officer. "As I say, sir – for the time being. I hope it goes without saying that my entire department will be working on this issue until it's resolved."

Kirk gave his Chief Communications Officer a brief, tight smile. "You're right, Lieutenant – that does go without saying. And if anyone can get this figured out, it's your team; I know that."

He pivoted then to speak to his First. "Spock, I think to err on the side of caution, we ought to –"

"Raise the alert status to Yellow, sir?" At Kirk's abrupt nod – because as usual at such a moment, each of them had known exactly what the other was thinking – Spock pushed a button to comm Engineering and Security.

"Mr. Scott, engage shields. Mr. Giotto, Yellow Alert status ship-wide."

"Aye, sir," came Scott's voice over the comm, just as Giotto responded with a terse "Done, Commander."

Not a split-second later, there was the muffled sound of an explosion somewhere on board – and the bridge was plunged into momentary darkness before the dim light of the emergency generators kicked in.

"All decks, report!" Kirk shouted over the shrieking sirens that had been automatically triggered to indicate that the _Enterprise_ was now on full Red Alert.

"Sir, main computers are down. Ship-wide communication is on emergency channels only." The evenness of Uhura's voice was belied by the intense concentration on her face as she worked frantically to restore communications throughout the ship.

"Damage seems to be isolated to Deck N, sir." Giotto's voice crackled across the primitive, walkie-talkie like devices that served as emergency communications. "All other decks report minimal or no damage – but we haven't been able to get into –"

"Engineering to Bridge – come in, Bridge!" The voice that was shouting into the comm was certainly not Scotty.

"Bridge to Engineering. Who's this?"

"Sajadi here, Captain. There's been an explosion, sir. Main motherboard is down, we've lost access to the nav deflectors – Mr. Scott's working on it now, sir. He says to tell you that we're looking at a minimum of – sir! Stand back!"

The ensuing blast vibrated the entire ship, and the power briefly went out before flickering weakly back on again.

"Sajadi! Are you there? What's going on – Engineering, report!" The urgency in Kirk's voice mirrored the expressions of everyone on the bridge; whatever had happened down there, it had not been good.

Only disjointed shouting came over the comm from Engineering now, as the crew on the bridge waited helplessly for a reply for seconds that seemed to pass like minutes. Finally, the Security chief's comm crackled to life again.

"Giotto to Bridge – Captain, we've made it onto Deck N. The explosions have done significant damage to the hardware, sir, though the hull itself is intact and we're getting the actual fire put out. Several injuries – some could be critical – and we've called Dr. McCoy to get his people here as soon as possible."

"Reports from other parts of the ship, Mike?" Jim was trying not to actually sag with relief; as awful as that blast had sounded, no one had died – and if Bones had anything to do with it, it'd stay that way.

"Sir, reports of limited damage due to the force of the second blast – but those seem mostly confined to Deck O. Seems like Deck N has taken the brunt of it, Captain – but the fire's out now, and the doctor's here with his team; they're evacuating the most serious of the injuries."

Giotto paused briefly. "Sir, Mr. Scott seems to have taken the worst of the second blast; he's been pretty badly hurt. Lieutenant Sajadi as well – from what the crew down here tells me, she saw the explosion coming and tried to pull Scott out of the way. Probably saved his life – but… well, sir, she's in bad shape, too."

"Mr. Giotto," Spock cut in quietly, "do you have an idea as to the extent of the damage to our computers?"

The security chief's voice was grim, even over the static-filled comm line. "It's bad, Commander. You might already know this, but we've lost contact with the nav deflectors – and our shields along with them. The engineers down here – at least the ones who weren't hurt in the blasts – are working to get the main system online again as quickly as possible, but it's going to be a matter of days at the very least before our shields are operational again."

Spock turned to the captain. "With your permission, sir, I would like to go to Engineering to assess the damage and provide assistance."

"Granted, of course, Spock." Seeing his navigator starting to rise from his spot at the helm, Kirk went on, "and you, too, Chekov – go see what you can do."

"Sir?"

"Yeah, Giotto – I didn't forget you. Is there anything you need down there that we can help you with right now?"

"No, Captain – we've got it under control to the extent that's possible at the moment. But… sir, I don't know how to say this, but we'd like your permission to investigate this as a possible act of sabotage."

"Sabotage? Seriously?"

The idea of anyone on the _Enterprise_ actually trying to do damage to the ship or its crew was nearly unthinkable to Kirk – but he had to admit that his chief of security had a point. That the explosions had happened the very moment he'd raised an alert – the fact that the only serious damage had been done to the ship's computers and shields – well, the whole thing was very suspicious indeed.

Jim sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. "Yeah, Mike. Go ahead and do what you need to internally to get that investigation going."

He could only hope that he and Giotto were both wrong.

* * *

The next few hours went by in a blur of frantic activity, as all available personnel went to help deal with the damage on the main Engineering deck and elsewhere throughout the ship. Kirk himself, unable to simply sit by and supervise as his crew dealt with repairs, had handed the conn over to Sulu, ending up on his back under the main Communications console with Uhura. The two of them, with the precision of a pair of neurosurgeons, had taken hours to reconnect all of the complex circuitry that finally enabled normal communications again.

As much as he'd wanted to be there, Jim kept himself from going down to Sickbay; he knew that the entire place would be a madhouse just now with the influx of injuries, and that the last thing Bones needed at a time like this was an anxious captain underfoot. The _Enterprise's_ CMO and his staff, despite being stretched to their limits, would do what they always did – which was to say, pretty much everything short of actual miracles – to get everyone patched up as soon as they possibly could.

The best thing he could do just now was to leave them alone; for now, at least, no news from Bones was good news.

Spock and Chekov had been able to help the crew in Engineering get most of the ship's computers back online, although, at least for the time being, it looked as though the nav deflector – and therefore the shields – would only be reactivated from outside the ship via a spacewalk.

"Not possible at this time, Spock." Jim knew, the moment he saw his first officer walk back onto the bridge, that he'd be requesting to go out there himself – and that simply was _not _going to happen.

"We have no idea what kind of threat, if any, that alien craft out there might pose – or, if all of this _did _happen because of an act of sabotage, what might be waiting for someone who did try to go reactivate the shields."

Spock nodded briefly. "Very well, Captain. However, without extravehicular repairs, it is entirely likely that restoring the shields to even half their optimal capacity will take at least 137 hours, and you are well aware that –"

"Sickbay to Bridge. Jim, you up there?"

The interruption wasn't an unwelcome one. Jim realized suddenly that this was the first he'd actually heard from Bones since the two blasts had shattered the calm of the ship hours before – and for all that he'd known his best friend was fine the entire time, it was still a relief to hear his voice, all the same.

"Right here, Bones. How are our people?"

"Gonna be all right, Jim – though a few of our folks were lucky to get out of that last explosion alive, and that's the truth."

"Scotty?" Of course, Kirk cared about all his crew members – but Scotty… well, Scotty was special.

"A bad concussion and a fractured collar bone – but mostly some really nasty burns. He's damn lucky we have Geoff M'Benga on staff – he's definitely the best ophthalmologic surgeon in the 'Fleet, and probably one of the best, period. Scotty still has his eyesight because of M'Benga, without a doubt. But he'll be with us down here for at least a few days until his eyes heal up – and you just know he'll be pretty pissed off to find that out once he wakes up."

McCoy snorted humorlessly. "I'm pretty sure that if he could figure out a way to run those damn machines of his with Braille in the meantime, he'd do it – but I think I'll be able to count on Chapel to keep him in line."

"Doctor," Spock interjected, "I know that the crew in Engineering was also exceedingly anxious about the condition of Lt. Sajadi; will she make a full recovery?"

Jim noticed that Spock was doing his best not to sound concerned – and to couch his own question as a query on behalf of the Engineering crew. He also knew, however, that the bright and fiercely independent young engineer was a particular favorite of Spock's – not, of course, that Spock would ever admit to having favorites.

"Yeah, she took the brunt of that second blast, tryin' to pull Scott out of the way – and God only knows what she was thinkin' to do a fool thing like that, but he's probably alive because she did. We weren't sure she was going to keep her left arm – there was some pretty significant trauma – but I'd say she's likely to be just fine after some time in rehab."

Bones paused briefly, and there was almost a smile in his voice as he continued. "If you want to pass that along to… the crew in Engineering, Spock."

_Well, I'll be damned,_ Jim thought. Bones had managed to figure out Spock's soft spot for Sajadi, too.

Between that realization – and the sudden, vaguely discomfited expression on Spock's face – Jim almost cracked a smile.

Almost.

* * *

_There's **much** more that's about to happen here – but I felt as though those events deserved a chapter of their own, and I liked where this one left off. _

_And I've become seriously paranoid that everyone will have forgotten all about this goofy story in the inexcusably long time it's taken me to update – so you know that I would especially love to hear from you about this latest chapter!_


	22. A Cosmic Game of Chicken

_Before we begin – this, my friends, is a romance-free chapter. There just isn't any. This is, quite simply, a chapter where some stuff happens - and I think you'd agree that things **do** need to happen occasionally. There is going to be a lot (as in, a** lot**) more stuff happening during this period of time - but I figured either you get a short-ish chapter now and another (possibly enormous) one a bit later, or you get an absolute mammoth at some point in the indeterminate future. _

_I went with the option of updating now - with my sincere apologies if it's too short to suit you. At least it was just 2 weeks instead of over a month between updates, though - right?_

* * *

**"One man with courage makes a majority."**

**~Andrew Jackson**

* * *

Chapel really did look like hell; if he were any kind of a CMO, Leonard knew he'd order her to get the hell out of Sickbay right this very minute and go to bed.

But some things took priority - and sitting by a loved one's bedside after they'd been badly hurt was one of those things, he supposed. God knew he'd done it for Jim often enough, and he couldn't even stand to think of how it'd be for him if it were Nyota unconscious in a biobed. He found himself suppressing a shudder at even the thought of it.

Chris looked up when Leonard placed a gentle hand on her shoulder – between worry, overwork and sheer exhaustion, he could see that she'd damn near reached her limit.

"Any change, Christine?" He knew better, of course - her face made that plain even if the readings on all the monitors weren't perfectly clear already.

"Not really, Leonard – you know how he's been. Sometimes he wakes up enough to say something, and I think maybe he's back, knows what's going on… but it doesn't happen. He asks me the same questions again and again, then he gets upset and starts struggling – sometimes it's because he can't see, and sometimes I think he's reliving the accident."

Absently, she stroked Scotty's arm, finally patting the back of his hand as if to offer him comfort. "He'll call out for Badria – trying to warn her away, maybe – and sometimes he'll start calling for Cirkin." She looked back up at McCoy, a question in her eyes. "But, Leonard, Cirkin wasn't hurt in the explosions, was she?"

"Not that I know of, Chris – and I'm pretty sure I'm caught up on everybody's paperwork by now, so I'd think I'd have heard about it if she'd been injured badly enough to show up in Sickbay."

Chapel gave him a halfhearted smile and a sympathetic pat on the arm. "You've had to get all that paperwork done without me, poor baby. I know how much you hate that."

He really did – and after more than eight hours spent in surgery, the last thing he'd wanted to do was to park his ass at his desk for another four and a half making sure every "I" was dotted and every "T" was crossed for those bureaucratic assholes in San Francisco. But it was part of his job – and right now, with all hell breaking loose all over the ship, well, he wasn't going to be the one to complain about performing his duties.

He shrugged. "We're all doing our jobs now, Christine – that and then some. It's all we can do, really."

"And I haven't been of any help at all." Chris looked miserably guilty. "I'm so sorry, Leonard, really."

"Don't be ridiculous, babe. While M'Benga and I had Scotty and Sajadi and everybody else in surgery and you were stuck with supervising all the triage yourself, you were doing the work of at least three people – just like you always do. And now –" he reached down to pat Scotty gently on the shoulder – "_this_ is your job. Even when he's not awake, he needs you here – and you know it."

Impulsively, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. "And Christine – you know how this goes. Scotty's gonna be fine, but he's coming off one hell of a concussion, and the confusion, the disorientation – they're to be expected, especially since he can't see just now. 'Course, it's a lot easier to step back and look at it like a medical professional when you're not worried sick about the person you're caring for."

He put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up toward the light. She was so fair-skinned that her pallor and the dark smudges under her eyes were even more obvious. And while on one hand, he knew she ought to realize that Scotty wasn't in any real danger, he also understood how emotions would get in the way of anything like calm or rational judgment.

He also knew that this relationship she'd found with Scotty had been the most joy she'd had in her life since her fiancé – some guy who was long gone before Leonard had ever met Christine – had been declared first missing, and then dead, after an exploratory mission had evidently gone terribly wrong.

He knew what it was like to feel like you'd been given a second chance at life and love – and he could only imagine how she must feel when she thought of how close she'd come to having this one taken away, as well.

But Scotty would be all right, and so would Christine – though she badly needed to get some rest, and Leonard was going to get that part taken care of, right now.

"And speaking of sick – you're not going to be any good to anybody if you don't get some rest. I'm gonna have Sankara bring you in one of those handy-dandy recliners so you can at least try to get a little nap here and there while you're waiting for this one to get his brains unscrambled."

Raising his voice slightly, he called over his shoulder to a young medic nearby. "Shiv? Wanna bring over one of those chair things for Chris?"

Turning back to his head nurse, he patted her shoulder reassuringly yet again. "He'll be fine – no reason on earth to expect otherwise. Now, I won't tell you he won't be a little bit nuts, but then again…"

"I know. I know. He was nuts to begin with." She covered his hand on her shoulder with her own, pressing lightly. "Leonard… thanks for being so, well… you know."

_Anybody who thinks he's nothing but a grumpy son of a bitch is entirely wrong, _she thought – _of course, he totally __**is**__ a grumpy son of a bitch, but he's also brilliant, and funny, and capable of being so unbelievably kind and empathetic when you'd least expect it._

"You're welcome – but for God's sake, don't tell anybody. If they think I've gone soft, my reign of terror will be over." He smiled for the first time since this morning – and Lord, but that felt like forever ago – at the sound of her genuine laugh.

"For now, though, my curiosity's piqued. I'm gonna go investigate what's going on with our Ensign Cirkin." He turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back. "I know I don't have to tell you this – but you'll keep me posted with any change, right, Chapel?"

She smiled, but put on her best "Hell yes, I'm a Lieutenant in Starfleet" voice. "Right, Doctor."

As he walked through Sickbay, McCoy was mostly on auto-pilot as his eyes flicked from one patient to the next, scanning monitors and glancing at charts. Absently, he spoke into his communicator.

"Computer, locate Ensign Cirkin."

The response was immediate – and stopped Leonard McCoy in his tracks.

"Ensign Cirkin is not aboard the _Enterprise_."

Could be a glitch in the software – God knew there'd been enough glitches today. He tried again. "Locate Ensign Cirkin."

Again, the tinny voice responded, "Ensign Cirkin is not aboard the _Enterprise_."

_Damn._

He spoke into his communicator yet again. "Jim – Bones here. Grab Giotto and meet me down here in Sickbay; something weird's goin' on, and I don't know what the hell it is, but I don't like it one bit."

~0~

* * *

~0~

"Crazy as it sounds, Captain, McCoy is absolutely right. We ran a total bioscan of the ship – and Ensign Cirkin isn't here. Not alive, not dead, not at all."

Giotto ran a hand distractedly through thinning dark hair. "Our instruments are sensitive enough that even if she'd been blown into unrecognizable pieces in one of the explosions, they'd have picked up enough of her genetic material to have identified her."

He shook his head in bemusement. "There's no record of _anything_ – living or otherwise – leaving this ship in the past two weeks since we left 84, and the Engineering folks say she's reported for duty every day she was scheduled ever since then. But she simply is not on board the _Enterprise_ – and you can make of that what you will."

The captain raised an eyebrow at his chief of security. "If it's all the same to you, Mr. Giotto, I'm going to let you and your team figure out what to make of this. For one thing, it's what we pay you for – and you do an exemplary job of it, I might add. For another, I've currently got a Constitution-class starship in deep space without shields and under surveillance by an unidentified alien vessel – and I'm without the services of my chief engineer and a good third of his crew. So –" he clapped Giotto briefly on the shoulder "—I'm going to let you go do your job while I figure out how I'm going to do mine."

His nod of dismissal was not unkind – but it also very clearly signaled the end of that particular discussion, and Lieutenant Commander Giotto left with a crisp salute.

"Now, Bones – how are the crewmembers you've got down here? Any chance of me talking to Scotty anytime soon?" Leonard had been looking at notes on his PADD while Jim talked to Giotto – but now something in Jim's voice made him glance up again.

_He looks worried_, McCoy realized, _and he almost never looks worried._

"What do you know that you're not telling me, Jim?"

"Nothing. Honestly. I mean it." Jim scrubbed his face with one hand. "I don't know a damn thing, Bones – but you've gotta know that all of this shit that's happened is just way too much at once to be coincidence. And – well, hell. I don't know who's responsible, or what they want from us, or how to react to them."

His voice, already quiet, dropped further. "All I _do_ know is that I've got more than 400 crewmembers on this ship whose lives are depending on me not fucking this up."

Bones looked hard at his best friend. "And in our two years out in space, how many dozens of times has that been the case? Jim – this ain't good, but it's nothin' new. And it's nothin' you can't handle. If you don't know that, I do."

Kirk smiled affectionately at his CMO – who already knew how much he'd needed that particular vote of confidence just at that moment. "Big dumb hick."

He wondered if Bones knew that his Georgia accent got thick as molasses when he was tired or under stress – probably not. Or – as was entirely more likely – he didn't give a rat's ass either way.

Bones returned the smile, albeit briefly. "You're gonna have to wait for a talk with Scotty, though, Jim – he's not coming back from the concussion as fast as we wish he would, and he's still pretty much incoherent even when he's nominally conscious."

At Jim's look of alarm, he went on quickly, "Nothing out of the realm of what's expected for that kind of injury. He'll be fine in a couple of days. But it was somethin' Christine said – that Scotty was callin' after Cirkin as well as Sajadi – that made me think to look for her to begin with."

He shook his head. "Makes me wonder if Scotty had something figured out that we don't."

Jim's expression was grim. "I'd bet on it. And I'd also bet that he's got a lot better idea of what the hell went down in Engineering than any of the rest of us do."

He sighed gustily. "But if we have to wait for him to be in any shape to talk to us, we have to wait."

"Captain." Nyota's voice over Jim's comm made both men start. "The alien vessel has reinitiated voice contact – and Mr. Spock asked me to tell you that the ship is now approaching us at a speed of approximately Warp 1."

Leonard wondered if Jim could hear the suppressed worry in her voice; she was such a professional that she never let her emotions get in the way of her job, but she sounded exhausted, and he knew she'd had to have had one hell of a day.

Just like he had. Just like everyone else on the whole damn ship, really.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Please tell the Commander that I'll be there immediately. Kirk out."

Before Jim could turn to leave, Leonard stopped him with a quick grip of his arm. He started to say something encouraging – or something humorous – or, well… something.

_You can do this. _

_You're the best damn captain in Starfleet, and don't forget it._

_I have faith in you. _

_Be careful, and don't try to be some kind of a goddamn hero, infant. _

Instead, he settled for a brief squeeze of Jim's bicep, and a none-too-gentle pat on the shoulder.

Jim nodded, as though he really had said something. "Yeah, I know, Bones. Thanks."

~0~

* * *

~0~

"Status, Lieutenant Uhura?"

"They've reestablished the audio channel, sir, but they've yet to communicate with us, or to respond to any of our hails."

"Mr. Spock – have you been able to gather any further information about this ship?"

"Negative, sir, other than what we have already observed regarding the unusual energy configuration of the craft."

Kirk looked over Spock's shoulder, as though the monitor might tell him something it had yet to tell his Science officer. "Care to guess what she is?"

Even in a moment such as this, that choice of words got a raised eyebrow from Spock. "Guess, Captain? I shall need more data for my estimate."

"Data? If it's data you want, we'd might as well go get some."

_Hell, we're sitting ducks out here anyway, _Jim mused grimly – _might as well be sitting ducks actually __**doing**__ something._

"Mr. Chekov, plot course to intercept that vessel. I want to see what she looks like close up."

The navigator nodded briefly in reply. "Aye, sir."

Sulu glanced quickly over at Chekov as his fingers flew over the console – but as much as he wanted to, he refrained from turning to look at Captain Kirk. He was sure that the captain wouldn't be sending them into a potential trap like this without a game plan of some sort – but damned if he could figure out what it might be.

This, however, was emphatically not the time to question Jim about his strategy – or anything else. This was a time to remember that there wasn't anyone else in the galaxy in whose hands he'd rather put his life; Jim had proven himself again and again over the course of these past two years to be absolutely batshit crazy – and utterly brilliant.

As if he'd been reading Sulu's mind, Kirk suddenly addressed the bridge crew.

"See, we don't know who these guys are. We don't know what they are, or why they're here. We do know they know us, and were expecting us – but not what they want. So right now, they're kinda holding the cards – and I'm pretty sure they know we know that. But I also need them to know that we might be without a big component of our defense system, but we're far from defenseless. And we're sure as hell not running scared from them."

Walking to the helm, he placed his hands on Chekov and Sulu's shoulders. "So as an engagement gift, I'm letting the two of you fly us straight into what might or might not be an alien ambush."

He actually laughed at himself, just a little. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Hikaru hadn't thought that anything would make him smile after the day they'd had – but damned if Kirk hadn't managed it.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir. Thank you."

"Captain." Spock's voice was surprisingly even, all things considered. "Vessel changing course, heading toward us at high warp speed."

"Mr. Chekov – ready main phasers." Kirk looked over his shoulder at Spock. "We _do_ still have the phasers, don't we?"

Spock wisely chose to ignore the question. Of course they had the phasers, and the captain knew that as well as he did. Spock was reasonably sure that Jim was trying to interject some humor at this time in order to alleviate the tension that was understandably building on the bridge – and although the human crewmembers seemed to appreciate it, Spock himself would have found it a bit unnerving had he not also known that Jim was in fact taking the situation very seriously indeed.

"Phasers armed and ready, sir." Chekov continued to make adjustments so that the ship's weapons remained locked onto the alien craft as it came closer and closer – before, to everyone's surprise, it whizzed by them, visible only as a streak of white.

Spock looked up from his console with a somewhat surprised expression. "Interesting. They were travelling at approximately warp ten."

"Interesting would be one word for it, I suppose, Mr. Spock."

_Warp __**ten**__?_ Jim shook his head imperceptibly. _Hell, __**we**__ don't go that fast, and we're the newest starship in the fleet._

_So we won't be able to shoot at them - so much for that option. _

"All right, then. Back on original course, Mr. Chekov. Keep me posted as to the vessel's movements."

"Captain," Uhura interjected, "Starfleet acknowledges report on our situation and confirms no authorized Federation vessel in this quadrant."

Chekov spoke again without looking up from his instrument panel. "Back on original heading, Keptin. The alien craft changed course immediately after we did. It's paralleling us again."

"Well, we have a little shadow. Faster, more maneuverable – and still unidentified. Mr. Spock, full analysis of sensor readings as soon as you've got them. I want to know who we're dealing with here."

An hour – and any number of evasive moves attempted by the Enterprise and copied by its "shadow" later – Spock straightened from where he'd been bent over his console.

"Spock, have you found anything?"

"Indeed I have, Captain. I get sensor readings of tri-tritanium from the alien ship's hull. The ship's hull seems to have an exceptionally high density level – or it may possibly be cloaked against sensor probes. It is manned, but our sensors cannot make out specifics."

"I see." Some information was better than none – but this wasn't much to go on. "Well, the Romulans have nothing like it, to the best of our knowledge. Certainly not the Federation or the neutral planets. What about the Klingons, Spock? Do you think there's a chance it's one of their vessels?"

"I think it unlikely it is one of theirs."

_Who, then?_

Uhura suddenly pivoted in her chair. "Captain? I just picked up the last part of a transmission –unknown source, not directed toward us, from what I could gather, and nothing I could get into the Translator. But I did put the recorder and the directional locator on it immediately."

"Excellent, Lieutenant. Mr. Chekov, directional locator indicates source bearing twenty seven, mark eight."

Chekov consulted his charts twice before responding. "It's coming from the other ship, sir."

"Uhura, switch recorder to Mr. Spock's station for decode."

"Captain – hang on." The Chief Communications Officer's voice was quiet but urgent. "I'm just getting some more data, sir. From the readings I'm getting, the directional locator indicates reception point for the transmission – wait, that can't be right, can it? – somewhere within the body of this ship."

"A personal receiver? Somebody on board this ship is in contact with that vessel?" The thought of such a thing hit Jim like a punch to the gut. "How can that be possible?"

"We have to assume that it is indeed possible, Captain. However, at this time, I cannot decode this transmission."

"Why not?"

He heard himself almost snapping at his First – and it probably wasn't even a fair question, the captain realized somewhat guiltily. However, in their years together, Kirk had become accustomed to Spock being able to do seemingly anything – everything – and to do it pretty much immediately.

"It is in no known code. There is no detectable pattern. No standard references apply."

Kirk could tell that Spock was every bit as frustrated with the situation as he was himself, and that his inability to provide answers – even temporarily – was really bothering him.

_Guess he'd gotten used to being able to do anything and everything, too,_ Jim thought sympathetically_. Has to suck to find out you really can't._

"So, Spock – with the information you've got, can you draw any conclusions at all?"

"Only negative. It fits none of our computer records, and it is alien."

"Sabotage? Someone out there playing a cosmic game of chicken?"

_Hell, this is weird – even for us._

He turned back to Uhura. "Lieutenant, you've got your sensor locator on a wide beam. You've established a receiver on board this vessel. Tighten your field to the interior of the ship."

"Yes, sir."

"If that alien vessel starts transmitting again, I want to know who on board the _Enterprise _is receiving."

~0~

* * *

_**One more thing:** If I haven't mentioned it lately, I really, really love you all for the wonderful support and encouragement I'm getting as I'm writing this piece. You have no idea how much your feedback means - and (seriously) how much faster it makes me write. I remain convinced that I have the best readers in this whole fandom - I really do. For those of you who are simply reading "Sestina," or have put it into their alerts or favorites, and (especially) you lovely people who leave reviews - thank you so very much._


	23. Best Judgment

_So terribly sorry for the gruesome delay in updating - RL strikes again, and we'll leave it at that. And I know I told some of you we'd be getting to the K/S in this chapter. In advance - I'm sorry. Seriously. But it's about to happen, which I know for an absolute fact, as I am writing it RIGHT NOW. Hand to God._

* * *

**Evil is easy, and has infinite forms**.

**~ Blaise Pascal**

**

* * *

**

"Captain, I've got Lt. Arex on the comm; Gamma Shift is ready to report."

"Yeah." Kirk ran a hand distractedly through his hair as he turned to face his helmsman. "Tell him the same thing you told Beta Shift, Sulu – we'll let them know if their services are required, but for now, Alpha crew is staying on the bridge."

Despite the shitstorm they were in just now, the captain felt a surge of pride in his command team. He knew – hell, they all knew – that they were widely acknowledged throughout Starfleet to be the best of the best. Even so, sometimes Kirk was almost amazed to watch his people as they worked; he'd given very few orders, and yet every last one of them had immediately done exactly what he'd wanted.

For instance, he hadn't had to ask Spock to start running numbers to figure out how they could attempt to outmaneuver the much smaller – and much faster – alien craft. Nor had he asked Chekov to work with Spock to determine how they could keep phasers locked on the impossibly moving target – but the two of them were bent over the Science console, quietly discussing reams of data that made little sense to anyone else.

Jim hadn't asked Sulu to pick up the administrative stuff that usually fell to Spock as First Officer; he'd simply done it, and had neatly arranged the crew's schedules so that work could continue on the damage in Engineering and elsewhere without stretching anyone too thin –despite their being shorthanded due to injuries.

Stretching anyone too thin, that is, except for the bridge crew themselves. Jim felt vaguely guilty as he looked around at his most trusted colleagues and friends – all of whom had now been at their posts for sixteen hours, with no end in sight. In his own defense, he had tried to send them off when Beta shift was to begin, but none of them were willing to budge. Uhura, in fact, had not dignified the request with a reply – or, for that matter, by even looking at Kirk at all – but had simply continued working with her usual laser-like focus at the Communications console.

"Guess it only makes sense to keep the first team in the game at this point," Jim said to no one in particular – though he supposed it had more or less been a response to Sulu asking about the Gamma crew.

Spock looked up briefly. "I will assume, Captain, that you are using a Terran sports analogy of some sort, as you seem to be fond of such terms at times of high stress on the bridge – and as it makes very little sense otherwise."

Kirk let out a bark of surprised laughter; he suspected that he was one of the very few people who even noticed, much less appreciated, Spock's subtle – and rather delightfully snarky – brand of humor. Spock had immediately turned back to his work, but Jim's smile lingered; though he himself frequently used humor to alleviate tension on the bridge, it had never occurred to him that his staid and oh-so-proper First would think to do the same for him.

And damned if it hadn't worked. For the first time in over four hours, the captain took a deep breath and dropped gracefully into his chair. The ship wouldn't actually come apart, Jim supposed, if he took a minute to relax.

Not, of course, that it was going to last.

"Captain." Two voices called for his attention simultaneously, urgently – Uhura's from the Communications console, and Giotto's over the communicator. Kirk turned first toward his Communications Officer with an inquiring look.

"I'm getting a new signal from the alien craft, Captain. I'll keep you posted with any changes in the situation."

He briefly nodded acknowledgment to Uhura before turning his attention to his Security Officer.

"What do you have, Giotto?"

"We used Lieutenant Uhura's information to locate the reception point for the alien communications to the _Enterprise_, sir – but other than that, honestly, we don't know _what_ we have, Captain. We found the receiver attached to – well, what we now have in custody appears to be Ensign Cirkin, but readings indicate that this being isn't Cirkin." Kirk could hear Giotto blow out a brief, irritated sigh. "Our sensors don't currently have any data to help us, sir."

Giotto stopped again, briefly – and even the pause sounded uncomfortable and frustrated. Jim knew that Mike Giotto was damn near as unused to being completely in control of a situation as Spock, and that it wasn't sitting any better with his Security Officer than it did with his First.

"So, should I take her – it – hell, whatever – down to Medical for further evaluations, or straight to the brig?"

"Neither. Bring it to the bridge." Jim's voice was grimly determined. "I want to see exactly who – or what – we're dealing with here."

"We'll be right there, sir. Giotto out."

The captain leaned back in his chair again – though any thought of relaxing had flown from his mind.

"I don't like this," he said, to no one in particular.

~0~

* * *

~0~

It occurred to Jim, once Giotto and his team had arrived, that he may only have actually seen Cirkin once or twice in the entire time she'd been on the _Enterprise_. That said, whatever the Security crew currently had with them certainly looked like Cirkin.

_OK, it looks like Keenser. God knows I could never tell the two of them apart._

He addressed the alien directly, swiveling in his chair to face her. "So – under normal circumstances, I'd be welcoming you aboard our ship."

Somewhat to his surprise, she not only understood him perfectly, but answered with a hint of amusement. "But as you've implied, these circumstances aren't normal – and I doubt that I'm particularly welcome."

Kirk's voice remained utterly serious, as he watched her intently. "You are correct; you are most certainly _not_ welcome. That said, I'd like to know – _now_, if you don't mind – exactly who you are, since you're obviously not Ensign Cirkin. I'd also like to know where the real Ensign Cirkin is – and what you're doing on my ship."

He leaned slightly forward toward her, and anyone who knew Jim well would have recognized the controlled anger in his expression. "For that matter, what you've done _to_ my ship, if I'm not mistaken."

Amazingly, she still seemed to find the situation amusing, and her voice – the odd little voice that, again, sounded so much like Keenser's, sounded almost flirtatious. "So many questions, Captain!" She looked dismissively at the Security personnel who had her by each of her arms. "If these fine people would let go of me, I'd be glad to start giving you some answers."

They showed no signs of releasing her, and she shook her head in a surprisingly human gesture of frustration. "I'm not a threat to anyone here – not anymore. I've already done all the damage I'm going to do – and believe me when I tell you that it's been extensive. But now? Now, I'm relatively harmless – at least for the time being." Failing to persuade the Security team, she turned to their commanding officer. "Don't you think pointing phasers is sufficient at this point, Mr. Giotto?"

It was Kirk who responded, speaking to the two lieutenants who held… _well, Not-Cirkin, for lack of a better description_, he thought – by each arm.

"Let her go."

She smiled – actually _smiled_ – at him, still seeming for all the world as though she were trying to flirt with him. "Thank you, Captain." Brushing imaginary wrinkles from her Engineering red sleeves, she looked back at him. "Now – you wanted answers. Ask away."

"All right. First one - you look like Cirkin. Our sensors indicate that you aren't. Who – what – are you, and where is my crew member?"

"Those are easy enough. Your crew member is dead – I killed her myself on Starbase 84. It was rather pathetically easy, to tell you the truth."

Ignoring the quiet gasps of the bridge crew around her – as well as the suppressed rage in Kirk's eyes, she went on. "As to who I am? Certainly not this ugly little thing, let me assure you." She gestured expressively to her own face and body. "Maybe I'll be a little more… _familiar_ this way."

She stopped then, seeming to turn her focus to within herself – almost, Jim found himself thinking, like Spock as he meditated. But then any comparison to Spock – or anything else – flew from his mind. She was…

_What the hell is she doing?_ There was shocked silence now on the bridge as the crew watched a transformation of the sort that they'd never previously encountered.

It couldn't be possible – but it looked as though she had actually begun to melt as her facial features disappeared into a smooth mask before beginning to shift into yet another configuration. Her body was undergoing a similar change, moving from the small, squat shape of Cirkin into a slightly taller and much more elegant form.

Cirkin's uniform was no longer a good fit for the curvaceous female who materialized before them. Finally, she ran graceful hands over the top of her head, fluffing the thick, shiny hair that had appeared there – and turning it to a distinctive shade of vivid blue.

"There, now." Her voice was a seductive purr. "You wouldn't forget your old friend Treya, would you, Jimmy?"

Jim felt his stomach drop sickly at the very sight of her before he was distracted by a sound – was that a _growl_? – from across the bridge.

It obviously _had_ been a growl, as he looked up to see Spock staring at the newly-transformed Treya with an expression that Jim hadn't seen on his face since… well. The last time he'd seen that particular expression, Spock's hands had been wrapped tightly around Jim's neck.

Spock had moved to take a step forward before a hand on his shoulder and Chekov's shocked whisper of, "Commander!" brought him to some semblance of composure again.

Treya laughed – an incongruously musical sound. "Oh, and there's our loyal and over-protective First Officer." She tossed her hair carelessly before smiling tauntingly at Spock. "You know, if you'd have just let me have him when I wanted him, you'd have saved everybody all kinds of trouble."

Her voice lowered, as she pretended to speak confidentially. "And really, you were only delaying the inevitable, Mr. Spock, because I'll be getting him now soon enough anyway– you'll see."

"As fascinating as that particular topic of conversation may be to you, it holds very little interest for me at this moment." Jim was using what his crew fondly referred to as his "Now you're messing with James Fucking Tiberius Kirk" tone – a tone which would let anyone with any sense at all know that he was, quite simply, done.

"So. We've established that you drugged me on Starbase 84, and would have dragged me off to God only knows where, given the opportunity. Moreover, you've told me that you've killed a member of my crew and, if I'm not mistaken, sabotaged my ship."

His stare was as icy as his voice. "Now you'll tell me how, and why."

"You certainly don't need to be like that, Captain." Treya managed to sound put out by the captain's unfriendly tone. When he chose not to answer, but only continued to glare at her, she went on.

"Fine, then. We – you haven't met my colleagues yet, Captain, but you will – we wanted to, shall we say, _invite_ you to join us aboard our ship to facilitate some negotiations that might be of… a delicate nature, perhaps… with your friends in the Federation. When it turned out that I wasn't able to convince you to come with us on the Starbase, I took advantage of my ability to… what should I say here? To change my appearance – that's close enough to the way it is, I suppose. But I took advantage of that ability in order to assume the identity of one of your crew members. As it turns out, one of my current colleagues used to be a crewmember of yours – perhaps you remember Yves LaFontaine?"

Treya paused, smiling slightly as she heard quiet expressions of surprise from around the bridge. "Ah, so you _do_ remember him – he'll be so pleased to hear that, I'm sure. You must know that he always speaks of all of you so fondly."

Flipping her hair back casually with one hand, she continued. "Anyway – Yves was incredibly helpful, as he was able to tell me, among a _lot_ of other things, which of the crewmembers would attract the least attention if I needed to… well, you get the drift, I'm sure. And you can imagine that I didn't have to work too hard to make sure I acted like Ensign Cirkin, since none of you really knew her – and better still, she had all kinds of access to odd little places in the ship during Gamma Shift when nobody was around to notice what she might be doing."

She paused, a look of distaste on her newly-beautiful face. "The only one who suspected anything was that little troll Keenser – but fortunately for me, I suppose, nobody pays much attention to him, one way or the other, and finally everyone just figured he was upset because I'd turned him down when he'd asked me to… ugh." She shuddered delicately. "I don't even like to consider it."

Jim suddenly realized that his hands were clenching and unclenching repeatedly, as the urge to throttle this… _creature…_ became nearly uncontrollable.

"Your actions were responsible for the explosions that have damaged the Engineering deck and injured my crew," he ground out.

"They certainly were. You all found two of my little surprises earlier today – but there are more, believe me." Her friendly façade turned into a sneer. "I've left you any number of charming remembrances in various places around the _Enterprise_ during my stay with you all – and you, Jimmy darling, will need to be significantly more cooperative with me and my colleagues if you don't want this ship of yours to be blown to bits, little by little."

Her smile was smug. "Because it _will_ happen – either from the inside when I start detonating all the various things I've been hiding around the ship – which, by the way, you'll never find in time to do you any good – or from the outside when my friends decide it would be fun to direct phaser fire onto a starship that doesn't have the shields to protect itself. Everything I've ever heard about you gives me the impression that you're a smart boy, Captain – so you get it, I know."

As Treya spoke, Pavel had become increasingly worried that Spock was going to lose what seemed to be his very tenuous grip on his self-control and actually try to kill her. Spock was almost vibrating with tension, and had never lost the facial expression that had accompanied the guttural growl he'd given Treya a bit earlier.

Not that Pavel felt remotely like defending her – in fact, he'd cheer Spock on or even help him under other circumstances – but he was highly suspicious that any attack on Treya might trigger some of the "surprises" that she spoke of so gleefully. He knew better than to hope she'd been lying about having sabotaged the ship – because of course she'd done everything she'd claimed to have done. There really wasn't another explanation for all that had happened today.

But he also knew that, should Spock decide he wanted to go after Treya, neither he nor anyone else on the bridge was going to be able to stop him; he was at least three times stronger than any of them – and stronger still, it seemed, when he was, as Starfleet put it, "emotionally compromised."

_And with this alien – __**whatever**__ the hell she is – threatening the Enterprise and Jim at the same time, he's probably about as emotionally compromised as he can get_, Pavel thought.

As though he'd been able to pick up on Pavel's concern – which, he supposed, was entirely likely, since the guy was a telepath and all – Spock glanced over at the young navigator and shook his head almost imperceptibly, a wordless message of reassurance.

"If I may, madam," he interjected then, his voice deceptively calm, "I would like to ask you to clarify your meaning when you state that the captain needs to be more 'cooperative' with you and your associates. What is the nature of the _cooperation_ you require from the captain?"

Treya rolled her eyes at Spock. "I'd never heard that you were slow on the uptake, Spock – but either you're a lot dumber than I thought, or you've been too busy trying not to kill me to pay attention. I told you all – Jim's going to come aboard our ship as… how about an honored guest? That sounds good, don't you think?" She shrugged. "And he'll be staying with us for as long as it takes to, ah… facilitate some negotiations with the Federation about some mining rights that they've been dragging their feet about granting us."

"You are mistaken, madam, if you believe that the captain will be accompanying you now or at any time in the future – for any reason." Spock knew that he was probably speaking out of turn – and that Jim could defend himself admirably when necessary – but he felt compelled to let this being know that she would not, _not_ be taking Jim.

Not now, not ever.

When Giotto had arrived on the bridge with their prisoner, Nyota had quietly taken the opportunity to patch Len's personal comm through to the main bridge. That way, if he was in his office, he'd at least be able to listen in and have some idea what was taking place – because she knew that he hated being out of the loop, even for a short time, when the safety of Jim or the crew might be at stake. She didn't have any way of knowing whether or not he was, in fact, in his office – but if he was, she suspected they'd all be finding out pretty soon.

She was right, of course; the lift doors had swished open just as Spock had begun to speak, and a haggard-looking Leonard McCoy strode onto the bridge with cold fury in his eyes. He went immediately to stand at Jim's side, as though he'd physically keep her away from his friend if need be.

"He most certainly will not," McCoy interjected, nodding approvingly in Spock's direction before glaring back at Treya. "You don't need to like it, but you'd damn well better deal with it."

Treya actually laughed at that. "Oh, isn't this just lovely? The good doctor has joined us as well – I should have known you'd be here sooner rather than later." Gesturing toward Spock and McCoy, she turned to the captain. "You know, Jimmy, you manage to inspire a touching amount of loyalty in your friends – this crew of yours would do just about anything for you, I think."

She leaned conspiratorially forward, as though somehow she was speaking to him in secret. "The question now is, exactly how much are you going to _let_ them do for you? Because none of them have actually died yet – well, except for little Cirkin, of course, but she doesn't really count, does she? But you've got your Chief Engineer and a bunch of his staff in some pretty bad shape in Sickbay right now, and you don't have any way of knowing who's going to be next, or when it's going to happen."

Infuriatingly, she smiled again. "You come with us like a good boy, and we leave your ship alone. If you don't cooperate… well, then, things might get a little ugly, mightn't they?"

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I think you're full of shit." McCoy was furious, and exhausted – and his temper was even shorter than usual. "We don't know who you are – hell, we don't even know _what _you are – but if you think for one moment that we actually buy your load of –"

Looking irritated for the first time, Treya made a fist – and McCoy was interrupted by the hiss of short-circuiting electronics and Nyota's sudden cry of pain as her console began to shoot sparks.

"Nyota!" Len was at her side instantly, his rant forgotten for the time being.

"It's – it's not bad," Nyota reassured him, drawing a shuddering breath as he whipped out his tricorder to examine her. "My hands are a little burned, but that's all."

"And maybe _now_ you'll believe me, Doctor McCoy," Treya snarled. "That little demonstration was just to shut you up – but there are plenty of others I could have activated that would have done a lot more damage than that."

The bridge was silent now except for the buzz of McCoy's instruments and the faint hissing of the Communications console as the last of the sparks died away.

"All right. I get it." Kirk's voice was grimly resigned. "I've heard from you; now I'd like to talk to whoever's in charge of this operation of yours."

Treya raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that isn't me?"

"Simple. They don't send the boss on a job like this, do they?" For the first time, Jim sounded as casually scornful as Treya had the whole time she'd been talking to them. "No, you're not the head of this group – nowhere close. So how about you put me in touch with whoever I _do_ need to talk to?"

He'd obviously struck a nerve, as Treya acted like a sulky child. "Fine."

She gestured dismissively toward Uhura. "You already know that little show of mine didn't do any significant damage to the system – you still have the channel open to our vessel. Just hail them."

Nyota nodded – gently pushing Len's dermal regenerator away from her hands. "They're fine now," she whispered. "I told you it wasn't bad."

McCoy moved aside reluctantly, knowing that she really was basically all right – and that he needed to back off and let her do her job.

Coolly flipping a few switches to reboot the system, Uhura leaned toward the microphone on the console. "USS _Enterprise_ hailing unknown vessel," she said calmly. "Come in."

"_Enterprise_." The same oddly mechanical-sounding male voice came over the communicator again. "This is the _Albiorix_."

Treya raised her voice slightly, turning toward the Communications console. "Gandhar, I am here with them. The captain knows of our requirements, but has asked to speak to you."

"Treya." There was an undertone of something threatening to the disembodied voice. "This is not as we had planned. You understood that you were not to show yourself until so ordered."

To the amazement of the Enterprise's bridge crew, Treya actually seemed to be afraid of him. "I know, Gandhar – and I am sorry." She spoke softly, a pleading tone to her voice. "I tried to avoid detection, but their crew found me as a result of our transmissions. It was not my fault."

"Silence, female." Gandhar was coldly dismissive. "I will decide where any fault lies, not you."

Kirk strode impatiently toward the Communications station. "_Albiorix_, this is Captain James T. Kirk of the USS _Enterprise_. You have been shadowing our ship's movements, and it seems that you have sent an agent on your behalf to sabotage our vessel. These actions against a starship representing the United Federation of Planets can only be viewed as a hostile overture, and a possible act of war."

He paused briefly. "Explain yourself and these actions, please – _immediately_ – or we will have to regard you as an enemy vessel and act accordingly."

The captain's request was greeted with what sounded almost like a rumble of amusement from the commander of the _Albiorix_. "_Act accordingly_, Captain Kirk? Since we both know that our craft is much faster than your own and therefore immune to your phasers – and since we also know that your ship is completely without its defensive shields – I would be highly curious to know how you might treat us as an enemy vessel."

"Our situation is as you have described," Kirk replied icily, "but the fact remains that we are a Federation starship – and that an act of violence perpetrated upon our ship is tantamount to an act of war upon the Federation itself."

"True," Gandhar replied. "And if I were in any fear of the Federation, such an argument would be of great importance to me. However, the Federation and any Starfleet's other vessels are at a sufficient distance that it would take a minimum of 2.5 Terran weeks for them to arrive at this location. By the time another craft could come to your aid, you and your ship – and your crew, of course – would be no more than a smattering of atoms dispersed into space."

The eerily mechanical voice sounded calm, almost reasonable. "Which is why, Captain Kirk, your cooperation with us is vital to the continued survival of the _Enterprise_ and everyone on board. I have no doubt that Treya has managed to make that point to you quite clearly. Have you not, Treya?

"Yes, Gandhar. Of course I have." She still sounded subdued and more than a little frightened – entirely without the careless cockiness she had shown them just a few minutes before.

"She has, as you said, made your point very clearly indeed. But," Jim persisted, "I still fail to understand why you seem to believe that my presence aboard your ship will make the Federation more likely to acquiesce to your demands for mining rights on – wherever you seem to want them. You've never actually mentioned a specific location."

"You never asked, Captain." Again, Gandhar sounded almost amused. "The planet in question is called Coridan – perhaps you have heard of it."

Spock somehow managed to continue to be a font of information, even under these stressful circumstances. "Coridan, Captain, was an original member of the Coalition of Planets – an organization which, as you know, preceded the formation of the Federation. It has recently applied for membership in the Federation, but there is some controversy involved about admitting them as members because of the mining rights that we are discussing at this time. Coridan has an immense supply of dilithium, but has become so under-populated over the last century and a half that the inhabitants of the planet are unable to effectively defend their own natural resources. This is why they are currently seeking membership in – and protection from – the Federation."

Jim nodded appreciatively as Spock finished his explanation. He found himself wondering if Spock realized that he already did know all of that information about Coridan – because, after all, they'd had the same history classes at the Academy, and read the same briefings from Starfleet.

He wondered if Spock was even thinking about it at all.

_He's feeling as ineffectual and useless right now as I am_, Jim mused – _like he can't help the ship, or the crew, or me._ _And it's frustrating as hell_. Delivering information – even if it really was information that Jim already had – was probably as close as Spock could get to feeling as though he was actually doing some good in this god-awful situation.

Spock had no way of realizing that his very presence on the bridge – the quiet strength, the stalwart support, just the fact that he was Spock, and he was _there_ – was helping Jim hang onto his composure at a time when he wanted to scream, wanted to kill somebody, wanted to fucking blow something up…

…and God help him, part of him even wanted to run – because he could see what was coming. He felt like the 14-year-old on Tarsus IV who had realized for the first time what he would have to do to try to save the kids who'd come to depend on him.

But Jim couldn't run, not now – not even if he really wanted to, which of course, he didn't. As much as he'd loved the thirty little boys and girls who'd clung to him on Tarsus, it was nothing compared to what he felt for his beautiful ship – and for the hundreds of men and women who had become his family over the past two years. He'd put himself through anything to try to save them.

The captain glanced around the bridge at the group of amazing professionals – hell, of amazing people – who surrounded him. He knew with utmost certainty that none of them would expect him to make a sacrifice of any kind on their behalf; that any one of them would volunteer to make that sacrifice on his behalf, given the opportunity.

He would not give them the opportunity.

"All right… Gandhar. I'm not sure how much more we need to discuss this, really." Jim looked down at the Communications console to avoid the intent stares of his crew – because, dammit, they knew. They knew him.

"You think having James T. Kirk is going to do you some kind of good. I think you'll find you're mistaken. I'll go with you -" He raised his voice over the gasps and murmured protests around him, and wordlessly shook off Bones' hand that had shot forward to grab his arm.

"…I'll go with you on the following terms. You give me 24 Terran hours. You allow us a secure channel – unmonitored by you – to communicate with Starfleet during that period. This one -" gesturing to Treya – "disables her communication channel with you, as well as her capacity to set off her 'little surprises' that she's placed around our ship."

The quiet hum of the ship's engines and the intermittent beeping of sensors on the bridge were all that interrupted the complete silence. It probably lasted for only a matter of seconds – but it felt interminable as the crew waited.

"You speak, Kirk, as though you have some room to bargain with us." Gandhar's bizarre voice had started to become almost familiar – and he sounded somewhat irritated. "You realize, I know, that you have no such leverage."

The young captain's voice was deceptively calm. "And _you_ realize, I know, that I certainly do."

Straightening again, he spoke challengingly to the unseen adversary. "You want mining rights on Coridan. You're going to hold me and my ship hostage to convince the Federation to see your side of things. If they don't go along with you – or if I don't cooperate now – you say you're going to blow up the _Enterprise_. Well, Gandhar, here's the alternative you didn't want to think about – that we might be willing to just have you blow us the hell up rather than be dictated to by thugs like you."

"Damn right." In another situation, it would have been funny that Bones and Hikaru had uttered the same words at exactly the same time – and the look on Sulu's face when he realized he'd spoken aloud almost made Kirk laugh, anyway.

Gandhar did not seem as amused, as the stillness dragged on again.

"Very well. We will accept your terms – but with terms of our own." Treya made a small, disgusted sound; it seemed that she didn't much care for being marginalized.

_Deal with it, bitch_, Jim thought.

"Our terms, Captain, are that in the 24-hour period that you have specified, you and the _Enterprise_ will set a course and follow us to our base of operations on the planet Soukara. We'd have gone there anyway, Kirk – so that way, we have not wasted our time by waiting for you."

"Captain." Spock's voice was urgent. "Soukara is in Cardassian space – the presence of the _Enterprise _there could be construed as a belligerent act, and in our current situation…"

"Spock of Vulcan." For the first time, Gandhar addressed someone besides the captain. "Believe me when I tell you that we are not working alone – and that our associates are more than capable of defending the _Enterprise_ against any threatening actions by the Cardassians." He almost sounded amused. "Or anyone else, really. At any rate, Spock, your objections are groundless."

Kirk spoke again. "Under those circumstances, Gandhar, we agree to your terms as well. Mr. Chekov, you'll plot a course for Soukara. Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura, you'll accompany Treya to Sickbay and ascertain that any receivers – or any other devices she may have in her possession – have been disabled and removed from her."

He looked back at the chronometer. "Currently, ship's time is 00:40. At 01:30, I want to meet with you and Sulu, Spock. Bones, join us if you can and if you'd like – and Mr. Chekov, Lt. Uhura, if it turns out that you're not busy at that time, I'd like you there as well. Meeting Room Alpha. Understood?"

A chorus of "yes, sir" – even from McCoy, who damn near never said such a thing – was the reply.

"Uhura, close our channel with the _Albiorix_ for the time being. I will see you, Gandhar, in 24 hours. Kirk out." After Uhura made the necessary adjustments, she rose from her spot at the console to join McCoy and the Security crew guarding Treya.

"I'll be back as soon as we're finished, sir," she said, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Thank you. All of you," Kirk replied, nodding his dismissal to the group that made their way toward the lift to head for Sickbay.

The quiet on the bridge was oppressive, and Jim felt like he'd been awake for a year when he dropped once more into his chair. He looked straight ahead through the viewscreen – not because it was showing him anything, but because he didn't feel like meeting the many eyes that he knew were currently upon him. Didn't want to see the faces, and didn't want to talk about it.

Of course, he knew that some things were inevitable – and he could feel Spock standing behind his right shoulder before he ever heard the quiet, intense request meant for his ears alone.

"Captain, I require a word with you in private, please. Immediately."

"Spock, I know." Jim knew he sounded as exhausted as he felt as he dropped his head into his hand; it felt like it weighed fifty pounds. "I can't do this right now, all right? I just can't. We'll talk it all through at 01:30, okay?"

Even though he'd just sat down, he rose again, stiffly.

"You've got the comm, Spock. I'm going to my quarters for a little while." Turning toward the helm, he spoke to his pilot. "Sulu, get Arex and the rest of Gamma up here, all right? Because we've got a long 24 hours ahead of us, and none of us are going to be worth shit up here on the bridge if we don't get at least a little bit of rest. When Gamma Shift gets onto the bridge, you're all relieved – and you're being _ordered _to get the hell out of here. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," was again the response from everyone around him – including, somewhat surprisingly, his first officer.

If he'd thought Spock was going to let up on him, however, Jim found that he was sadly mistaken as his First shadowed him as he moved toward the lift.

"Captain – _Jim_."

Kirk spun on his heel, ready to go off on Spock for not leaving him alone as he'd asked him to – but the expression in Spock's fathomless dark eyes stopped any words he might have said before he could even open his mouth.

Spock looked… God, there was no describing how he looked – and it hit Jim like a punch in the gut that he had, however inadvertently, caused Spock the kind of pain he was so obviously feeling at this moment.

"We must… there is something important that…" Jim had never known Spock to be at a loss for words – but in a situation such as this one, he supposed he could understand it.

"I know, Spock. I know what you're going to say, and I… I already told you – I just _can't_ right now, Spock. I don't like this either, believe me – but I've made up my mind, and now we have to figure out what we're going to do." He patted Spock's shoulder halfheartedly. "Get off the bridge for a few minutes when Arex gets here, and then I'll see you when we all get together in a little while, all right?"

Spock nodded briefly as Jim turned and took the last few steps toward the lift. He found himself staring at the doors, even after they had closed behind his captain.

_You are mistaken, Jim. You have no idea what I was going to say._

~0~

* * *

~0~

"I've managed to get through to Starfleet HQ, Captain – they're getting Admiral Komack for us and he'll be here momentarily." Uhura had ignored instructions to go and get rest, choosing instead to use the time before their command crew meeting to get through to San Francisco as soon as possible.

"Komack?" McCoy's voice was equal parts outrage and derision. "What good is _that _fat-assed pansy going to do us? His idea of going into battle is finding out that he has to pick up his own dry cleaning."

Though Spock would hardly have phrased it in such a way, he found that is own opinion was alarmingly similar to that of Doctor McCoy. Moreover, in addition to Komack's lamentable lack of active combat experience, it was well-known that he harbored a deep-seated dislike for James T. Kirk. Had Komack had his way, Jim would never have been given the captaincy of the Enterprise to begin with – and Spock knew that on more than one occasion, Komack had made a concerted effort to use some of Jim's more creative interpretations of Starfleet regulations to remove him from command entirely.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock addressed Nyota – knowing that she was every bit as well-aware of Komack's shortcomings as anyone else. "Were no other members of the Admiralty available to discuss our current situation?"

She sighed. "No, Commander – and believe me, I asked. Evidently, Admirals Pike and Barnett are on a mission that has taken them out of communications range for at least another week. I was asking around for Admiral Archer – but once Admiral Komack heard that we were looking for a member of the Admiralty, he evidently insisted that he be put in touch with us himself."

"Figures." Jim shook his head. "Doubt that he's going to be of much assistance, but any advice is going to be better than nothing, right?"

_Famous last words_, he found himself thinking afterward.

Uhura had managed to convey enough of the day's events to Starfleet as they'd taken place that Komack did not require a great deal of extra information in order to be brought up to speed with the situation in which they currently found themselves. When Kirk, Spock and McCoy had each had an opportunity to present the information they'd gathered – and once Jim had explained his decision and the reasons behind it – the Enterprise crew sat back and waited for Komack's reply.

They'd been sitting in silence for nearly five full minutes when the captain lost his patience. "Well, Admiral? You've heard what we're up against – at least to the extent that we know what we're up against. We've explained their actions, their demands, and the hopefully temporary solution which I've proposed."

Jim wondered if his next sentence was going to sound as surreal to Komack as it did to him – knowing, as they both did, that he had never willingly followed an order this asshole had given him in his entire career. "Admiral, we await your orders. What would you have us do at this time?"

In other circumstances, Jim would have been enjoying the hell out of watching Komack's face change colors – from pale, to red, to almost purple before going back to pale again.

_Too bad none of those look particularly good on him. Not that much of anything does…_

Then Komack cleared his throat. Pulled at his collar as though he'd inadvertently put on someone else's uniform. Cleared his throat again.

"Ah… um… well. Yes. Orders."

Jim could see the wheels spinning in the admiral's head. If Komack ordered him to go along with his current plan, he could well be knowingly sending a Starfleet officer to his death – because if Kirk was going as a hostage, then his captors were going to be finding out soon enough that the Federation never made exceptions when it came to refusing to negotiate with terrorists. They just didn't. Which meant this group would either end up letting the captain go – or, in a situation that was much more likely, killing him.

And of course it wasn't just any captain, either, but Captain James T. Kirk, hero of the _Narada_ disaster and son of yet another hero, George Kirk of the _Kelvin_. Youngest captain in Starfleet, San Francisco's favorite PR darling – and an insufferable little fuck. As much as he might enjoy doing so, ordering Kirk into mortal danger would not be a good career move on Komack's part, and it was clear that he knew it.

On the other hand, if he ordered Kirk_ not_ to go aboard the _Albiorix_ – well, then, he'd be putting a crew of more than 400, as well as the flagship of Starfleet – in potential mortal danger. There simply was not a good solution – with the definition of a "good solution," in this case, meaning a solution that would prove beneficial for the career and public standing of one Admiral James Komack.

"Well, Kirk – since you are on the scene and I am not, I'm not likely to be able to make the most effective decisions for you. You've often asked me to trust your abilities – and I'll do so now. You and your crew should use your best judgment, Kirk. Those are your orders."

The sound of poorly-suppressed gasps went through the room – and Lt. Uhura found herself reaching a warning hand across the table to prevent Dr. McCoy from saying something that could be used to court-martial him

Now it was Jim who had gone pale. "Our… 'best judgment,' Admiral? Those are Starfleet's _orders_ for us?"

He shook his head once, sharply, as though to clear cobwebs from his thoughts. "Will you at least be sending backup vessels toward Soukara to assist in freeing the _Enterprise _from Cardassian space once I'm aboard the _Albiorix_, Admiral?"

"Negative, Kirk. You know as well as I do that we don't have the cloaking or defensive technology to defend ourselves against the Cardassians and their allies, especially if the rumors we've been getting about some new group they've allied themselves with – I think they're called the Dominion, or something like that – are even partially true. Sending more ships into danger after you – well, it simply doesn't make sense. I'm sure you understand that. Your crew wouldn't want other ships and their crews sacrificing themselves for you, would they?"

Uhura's grip on his arm proved insufficient to help McCoy restrain his temper, and he rose from his seat to address the admiral's image on the view screen. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but are you for real? Are you actually asking a starship captain to sacrifice himself to save his ship – and then to sacrifice his goddamn ship as well – because you can't be bothered to send anyone to help us? Because I'll tell you, sir, you're right – our crew would never ask anyone else to go into harm's way for us. But I also know how Starfleet works, sir – and I know there's not a crew on any ship out here that wouldn't gladly do whatever they could to help another ship in need. Not one, sir."

There was a ring of white around McCoy's lips as he compressed his mouth in barely-contained fury. "But we aren't gonna be finding that out, are we, sir? Because you won't be giving anybody so much as the opportunity – much less the _order _– to come to our assistance."

"Lieutenant Commander McCoy, that's quite enough." Jim's voice was firm – though the compassion behind the order wasn't lost on his CMO. "Stand down, Doctor."

With a brief nod toward his captain, McCoy lowered himself silently back into his chair.

"Very well, Admiral. You're aware of our current situation, and how we – I – have proposed to solve the problem. It seems that I'm already following your standing orders, in that I am using my best judgment. In my absence as commanding officer, I will relay similar orders to my crew."

Kirk's words were completely respectful – but Komack felt the contempt in his voice and in his expression like a lash.

"Have I correctly interpreted your instructions, sir?"

The admiral swallowed hard, pulling again at his suddenly too-tight collar. "Yes, Captain Kirk. You have correctly interpreted them." His eyes shifted uncomfortably across the empty conference room from which he addressed them. "Is there anything else you needed from me?"

"No, sir. Nothing whatsoever."

He could be sending them to their deaths – all of them – and amazingly, he didn't even seem to give a shit. Jim made up his mind that if by some miracle he and his ship returned safely into Federation space, he was going to find Komack and punch him right in the mouth. "At this time, I see no need for us to remain in further communication, sir. _Enterprise_ out."

As the blue Starfleet logo replaced the admiral's face on the view screen, Jim looked around the small meeting room at the faces of his closest friends and most trusted colleagues. Spock, Bones, Hikaru, Nyota, Pavel – they already understood.

"Well," he said grimly, "it looks as though we're in this one on our own."

~0~

* * *

~0~

Like I said - I'm doing the unthinkable and writing a chapter while in the process of publishing its immediate predecessor. Seriously - I _never_ do that. Meanwhile, hearing from you is going to make me write faster - it always, always does. So, I'd love to hear from you, my darlings!


	24. Parted From Me and Never Parted

**_A/N: Finally._ No more teasing, kids - the Kirk/Spock is here.**

But oh my gosh, this chapter is not only really long - but it was a killer. You don't know this - because why should you? - but usually by the time I sit down to write a chapter, it already exists in my head, and it just comes out. That last 11,000 word monster a while back? Did it in one shot on a Saturday; it's just how I roll.

But this one? I've been writing this chapter every day since I published the previous one - and I've had to drag it out of my brain and onto the page a little bit at a time. Who knows why?

I only hope that it proves to be worth the wait I've put you through for your K/S - and worth your while in general.

~o0o~

* * *

_**One more thing:** It was called to my attention by a truly lovely reader that a scene in this chapter bears a striking similarity to another author's work - "No-Win Scenario" by "singingintime" - and while there are definitely fundamental differences between my scene and the one to which the reader referred, I can also absolutely understand why she'd have brought it to my attention. _

_Having read this (really beautiful) piece myself when it came out a little over a year ago, I can also imagine that it was hanging around in my brain somewhere when I wrote the end of Chapter 24 - though I want to assure everyone involved that although this piece may have unwittingly served as an inspiration for my writing, I certainly did not intentionally copy the work of another author.  
_

_That said - "No-Win Scenario" is eminently worth your time to read (as are all of this author's works that I've had the chance to read), and so here is a link (minus spaces, of course - since we all know this site doesn't like links): _

**ht tp: /sing ingintime. li ve jour nal .com /1371. ht ml#cutid1 **

~o0o~

* * *

**Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.**  
~John 15:13

* * *

"There's no way I can talk you out of this – this fucking suicidal move, is there?" McCoy's voice managed to express outrage, resignation and affection all at once – Bones was the master of mixed emotions, as Jim had learned over their years of friendship.

"You know there's not. You know there's no other option. Shit – you don't think I have a death wish, do you?" Jim fidgeted as he sat on the biobed, while his CMO pumped him full of meds that would – if all worked as it was supposed to – block most of Jim's most extreme allergic reactions for at least a few weeks.

"Dammit, Jim, I know you don't. It's just…"

Jim braced himself for the hypospray that he knew was going to be fiercely jabbed into his neck – just like always – and was taken aback by McCoy's unaccustomed gentleness.

Swallowing hard around the lump that had just formed in his throat – and which had nothing whatsoever to do with the meds in his system – Jim reached up to take the hand that still hovered near his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze.

"I know, Bones. You've gotten so used to taking care of me over the past five years that you think it's your job, somehow."

"That's because it _is_ my job, infant! I'm your CMO." McCoy had to swallow now, too. "I'm your goddamn _best friend_."

Bones was standing behind him, so Jim couldn't see his face – but he'd known this man long enough, and well enough, to know exactly how he looked at this moment.

"Jim… ah, _hell_, Jim, I can't let you do this. I just can't. Send me instead."

A laugh that wasn't quite a sob caught in Kirk's throat. "What, and turn this into intergalactic warfare? Those aliens wouldn't stand a chance against the Wrath of Bones."

Jim swiped roughly at his eyes with the back of one hand. "I know you'd go in my place – and gladly. Believe me, I do. But you know I'd never let you – and even if I did, you know it's me they want."

Kirk started to wonder how many times he was going to have this talk today – Hikaru, God love him, had already cornered him on his way down to Sickbay and made the same offer. Jim was pretty sure Sulu had known he was going to be refused – but that didn't negate the man's willingness to sacrifice his freedom, and possibly his life, for his captain.

Although he was pretty sure Hikaru wasn't offering to take Captain Kirk's place; he'd have been going for Jim.

It was amazing to have such loyal friends. It sucked to think of leaving them; sucked worse to think of maybe never seeing them again.

And the worst of it was yet to come, he was pretty sure; he'd managed to avoid Spock so far, but he didn't know how long that could last.

He could tell from his first officer's reactions that he was making a grievous error in Spock's opinion – and it ripped Jim apart to know that Spock disagreed with his actions, even though he was far too disciplined to question his captain at such a moment.

Honestly, though, he didn't know what the hell Spock or anyone else expected him to do – it certainly wasn't as though they were facing any kind of good options at this point, and Spock had to realize that.

But…

Oh, God – the _look_ he'd seen dawning in Spock's eyes when he'd realized that Jim was going to give himself up as a hostage…

If Spock offered to go in his place, it would be easy to tell him no – because that simply was _not_ going to happen. But if Spock tried to talk him into staying with the ship – into staying with _him_ – he wasn't sure he'd be able to refuse.

"Jim." Bones' quiet voice called him away from his thoughts. "I know this is a hell of a time to ask you this, but…" McCoy dropped down to sit on the edge of Jim's bed.

"Before you… before you go." He turned his head so that Jim couldn't see his face – but they'd been best friends much too long for Jim not to know when Bones was fighting to keep his self-control. "Have you thought about – well, about telling Spock?"

"Yeah, I've thought about it. A lot."

It was a little frightening, frankly; even as he was weighing their almost nonexistent options, trying to make whatever plans he could to keep the _Enterprise_ as safe as possible in his absence, cursing Komack for the incompetent coward he was – even as all those things were commanding his attention, his thoughts kept going back to Spock.

Spock, whose unfailing support over the past two years had made him an invaluable First – and who had, against all odds, become an irreplaceable friend.

Who, without even realizing it, had become so very much more to Jim.

With a sigh, Jim let his head fall backward against Bones' shoulder. "I don't know _what _to do, Bones – and I just don't have any more big decisions in me right now."

McCoy's voice, close to his ear, was barely more than a whisper. "He deserves to know, Jim. _You_ deserve to know that he loves you back. It's too damn important to let it go, and you know it."

Reaching forward, Bones wrapped one arm around Jim's chest, pulling him backward against his own. For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of their breathing.

"Am I doing him a favor by telling him, Bones, if it ends up that…?"

_That I never see him again? That this is finally the mission where my luck runs out, and I don't make it back? _

_Because nobody's saying it, but we all know. _

_We all know. _

"Jim." He could hear the tears in Bones' voice. "Listen to me, now, and hear what I'm telling you. We will not – simply _will not_ – let them have you. If those bastards at Starfleet aren't going to help us, we'll damn well help ourselves. 'Best judgment', my ass."

He swallowed hard before going on. "You're going onto that damn ship of theirs because it's the only thing you can think of to do – probably the only thing you really _could_ do, just now, and we all know it. You're buying us time until we can figure out some way out of this shitstorm – and you've gotta know we will. We always do. But if they don't end up letting you go, you need to understand that we _will_ come get you. The _Enterprise_ – or, hell, maybe just me and the goddamn hobgoblin – we'll get you out of there."

He drew a deep breath. "So don't be thinking you won't see us – see _him_ – again. Because I'm tellin' you right now that I refuse to let that happen. If Spock was here, he'd tell you the same thing."

McCoy's arm pulled him closer, and he briefly pressed his cheek against the top of Jim's head. "You'll do what you've gotta do, Jim – but we'll come for you, no matter how long it takes, or how far we have to go. It's just that simple."

Moving slightly away, Jim turned toward his friend, his blue eyes solemn. "And if I ordered you to stay out of harm's way?"

"You know better than to think that'd do any good, don't you? But don't do it, anyway – because it'd kill Spock to break one of your orders, but he'd do it all the same."

"Ummm… Leonard?" Chris Chapel's voice was hesitant as she stood in the doorway of one of Sickbay's few private rooms. "I'm sorry to interrupt – but you wanted me to tell you if Monty woke up. He's been pretty consistently coherent for about the past fifteen minutes – he's asking questions that indicate he knows what's going on, and seeming to understand the answers. And Captain," she added, "he's asking for you. If it won't be a problem, and if you have time, of course. I know things are kind of –"

Jim held up a hand to silence her as the two men rose at once. "Of course I want to talk to him, Chris. Let's go, Bones."

Sure enough, Scotty was conscious and sitting up in his bed, with only the protective cover over his eyes serving as any indication that he'd recently been badly injured.

"About damn time you woke up, you crazy son of a bitch." Jim knew his cheerfulness sounded forced – but he didn't want to upset Scotty by telling him what had really been going on. He'd find out about all of that soon enough.

"Captain…" The anguish in Scotty's voice had nothing to do with any physical pain he might have been feeling. It was also becoming pretty clear that Christine hadn't kept any of the ugly details from him – he seemed to understand exactly what had happened on the ship today.

"_God_, Jim – I'm so sorry. I cannae believe that someone sabotaged our lady right under my very own nose, and I didna even realize it until it literally blew up in my face."

"Scotty." Jim immediately reached down to clasp his Chief Engineer's hand in his own. "You can't – you just _can't_ – blame yourself – you have to understand that. Seriously, you had no way of knowing what was going on. You'd have been crazy not to trust a member of your own team, and I'd have thought you were nuts if you'd told me that somehow, Cirkin wasn't really Cirkin."

He blew out an impatient breath. "Shit, I'd probably _still _think you were nuts if you told me that. I kind of can't believe this is really happening, even though I know better."

"I cannae help it, Captain. Engineering – all of it – that's what I'm supposed to be in charge of, here. And that, that… _thing_ killed one of my crew members, and, and… _sabotaged_ my ship. It's just more than I know what to do with."

Normally, Kirk would have taken Scotty jokingly to task for referring to "his" crew and "his" ship – because they both got a kick out of it when Jim would say something to the effect of, "I missed the memo that you'd been given the captaincy of the _Enterprise_, Mr. Scott – congratulations on that one."

But just now, Jim didn't feel like teasing – and he was reasonably sure that Scotty didn't feel like being teased. Instead, he gave his Chief Engineer's hand another squeeze.

"Yeah, Scotty – I know. It's more than any of us know what to do with, and that's the truth." Impulsively, he reached over and took Scotty's other hand as well.

"But you can't be worrying about this now, got it? Believe me when I tell you it doesn't do any good. Besides, you've gotta do whatever Bones and Chris tell you to do to get better as fast as you can – because I'm counting on you, okay? Nobody knows our girl like you do – and even though your team is doing one hell of a job putting things back together around the ship, it's not the same as having you there. And after tomorrow, when… when Spock's in charge, I know he'll be counting on you as much as I ever did – more, even. And I know you'll come through for him, just like you always do for me."

"Aye, Captain." Scotty's voice was tight. "That I will – dinna worry about that."

McCoy was peering disapprovingly at some of the readings provided by Scotty's biobed.

"We're going to leave you to rest now, Mr. Scott – this stress isn't doing you any good, frankly, and if you want to get out of here and start making yourself useful as badly as I think you do, you're going to have to make up your mind to just calm the hell down for the time being and try to relax."

"That's right," Kirk added, trying once more to inject a jovial tone into his voice – without a great deal of success. "Since we've put you up here in our 5-star spa accommodations, you'd might as well make the most of them."

Chapel picked up on what the captain was trying to accomplish, and went on with a sympathetic smile in Jim's direction. "Don't give him any ideas, Captain. If he ends up asking for a full-body seaweed wrap or a hot stone massage, I'm going to blame you."

"Fair enough, Lieutenant." Reaching forward, Jim ruffled Scotty's short-cropped hair affectionately. "But Scotty – make sure you insist on the paraffin manicure. It's just divine."

He was gratified to hear both Scott and Chapel laugh – even just a little – as he and Bones made their way out of Sickbay.

~o0o~

* * *

~o0o~

"I'm sorry, Commander." Sulu had very nearly walked straight into Spock as he had made the turn into the corridor. "I suppose I wasn't exactly paying attention to where I was going."

"That is entirely understandable, Mr. Sulu; I believe that many members of the crew are currently finding themselves to be preoccupied by the nature of today's events."

Spock heard his own voice sounding as even and unemotional as ever as he spoke to Sulu; in a detached sort of way, he found himself wondering how such a thing was possible considering the decidedly unsettled state in which he found himself at this time.

They had both begun walking again after their near-collision. "Am I to assume that you, too, are on your way to the captain's quarters?"

"I am, Commander. The captain asked me to join the two of you in his office – though I'm not entirely sure what he needs to tell just the two of us."

Spock suspected that he did know what Jim intended; if he was correct, the captain would be promoting Lt. Cmdr. Sulu to the position of First Officer when Spock himself was made Acting Captain. If such was indeed the case, it was a choice with which Spock concurred completely; Sulu was already well-acquainted with the nuances of the position, and possessed the impressive organizational skills needed to successfully fulfill the responsibilities the job entailed.

Moreover, he was extraordinarily intelligent and remained calm under pressure – both of which were traits that Spock would value greatly in a second-in-command at any time, but which would prove to be especially valuable to him in this highly volatile situation.

If Spock remained unable to convince the captain to abandon his plan to go aboard the _Albiorix_, he would take the position of Acting Captain in another 6.43 hours.

_Acting Captain._ The words felt unwelcome, odd and foreign inside Spock's mind.

It occurred to him that when Pike left him in command of the _Enterprise _to board the _Narada_ – _could that really have been over two years ago?_ – he had ceased rather quickly to think of himself as "Acting Captain," but instead came to consider himself to be simply the ship's commanding officer. Somehow, it had not been so difficult to make that mental transition in Captain Pike's absence.

He knew, though, that no matter how long Jim was away from the _Enterprise_, Spock would never – _could_ never – consider himself to be the captain. Even now, to think of himself as the _Enterprise's_ commanding officer seemed intolerably disrespectful – _almost blasphemous_, he found himself thinking.

_And if the captain could be privy to my current train of thought, he would likely be inordinately amused,_ he mused. That Spock could even consider being disrespectful – irreverent – and that he considered Captain James T. Kirk to be the rightful recipient of his respect, and indeed his reverence…

_Jim would laugh._ Even if he realized that Spock was completely sincere, he would never believe himself to be worthy of that kind of high regard.

_Which makes him all the more worthy of it, of course._

Spock realized with some surprise that they had arrived at the captain's door, and that Sulu was pressing the call button.

"Enter," came Jim's voice as the door slid open. "Come in, you two – I need to talk to you both."

~o0o~

* * *

~o0o~

Spock had, of course, been correct. The captain had indeed announced his choice of Lt. Cmdr. Sulu to take Spock's place as First Officer – a development which, Spock noted, had somehow seemed to come as a great surprise to Mr. Sulu himself.

Whereas Spock had observed that most humans made a show of modesty, it seemed that Sulu actually possessed it; he had in fact compiled a list of officers whom he had thought Kirk might appoint to take Spock's place, and even briefly argued in favor of the qualifications of some of these officers over his own. First Kirk and then Spock had stopped him, explaining tersely but convincingly that Sulu was indeed not only the captain's first choice, but that he would have been Spock's as well. Sulu had graciously accepted the new appointment then, and had provided the captain with the name of a young ensign in Operations who had impressed him a great deal in pilot's training at the academy, and whom he thought would be an excellent interim replacement for him at the helm.

With that out of the way, the three of them had then had an exhaustive discussion of the status of repairs on board the _Enterprise_, the condition of injured crew members…

…and, finally, plans for the transition of command from Captain Kirk to Acting Captain Spock in – Spock checked the chronometer to ascertain that it agreed with his own internal clock – 4.65 hours.

Less than five hours to change Jim's mind – to convince him that this mission was futile, suicidal. Less than five hours to find the time, the opportunity, to tell him…

To _tell_ him, somehow – because no matter what else took place in the hours they had left, Jim had to know.

"Spock? You with us?"

Somehow, he had managed to allow himself to be absorbed by his own thoughts to the extent that Jim had noticed his distraction and directed a somewhat concerned look toward him. _A preoccupied First Officer is the last thing a captain needs at a time such as this, _he chided himself.

"I beg your pardon, Captain. My lapse in attention was, I assure you, only momentary."

Jim nodded briefly before continuing to show them both the plans that Giotto had made to scour the_ Enterprise _in an attempt to find more of Treya's concealed devices before they could be used to do further damage to the ship.

As the captain continued to speak, Spock found himself to be the subject of Lt. Cmdr. Sulu's increasingly close scrutiny. The two of them had worked together often enough and closely enough for Spock to recognize the particular expression on Sulu's face – he was analyzing Spock as minutely as he would any scientific experiment, though the First Officer was at a loss to understand quite why he was doing so.

As Spock looked up and met that searching gaze, Sulu looked away somewhat uncomfortably and addressed the captain.

"Are there any remnants of the devices that detonated this morning to help Giotto and his crew focus their search, sir – or are the Security guys flying blind?"

"Unfortunately, Sulu, it's more the latter than the former. Like her or not, you've gotta hand it to our buddy Treya – she's pretty efficient, and sneaky as hell. Too bad she's not on our side."

Even the thought of the creature Treya still made Spock tense uncomfortably – although he realized that such a reaction was not only un-Vulcan but utterly illogical. Here aboard the _Enterprise_, after all, Treya was under close supervision and was unlikely to be able to harm Jim – which was, Spock admitted to himself, the main cause of his current discomfiture.

However, in 4.23 hours, Jim would be voluntarily boarding the _Albiorix _as a hostage – a scenario in which Treya's commander Gandhar and her other partners could very easily…

Spock shook himself mentally once again. Focusing on the harm that could possibly come to Jim in a situation that was still a hypothetical one at this time was yet another thought process that was neither useful nor logical.

At just that moment, Sulu rose suddenly from his seat, a determined expression on his face as he looked first at Spock, then at Kirk, and finally to Spock again.

"Captain, with your permission, I'll take my leave; I'm sure that there are… certain aspects of this situation that you and Commander Spock would prefer to discuss without me." Although Sulu's words were directed at Captain Kirk, his eyes never left Spock's as he spoke.

"Moreover, Captain, Commander, with your permission, I'll have Lt. Uhura route all communications headed toward either of you through me instead for –" he quickly looked up at the chronometer – "the next two hours. I'll keep you posted in case of an emergency – but at this time, Captain, it seems to me that the crew knows their orders and that everyone is working accordingly."

Kirk looked slightly confused, and more than a little apprehensive. "Mr. Sulu, I'm sure that's not –"

"Thank you, Mr. Sulu; that would be greatly appreciated." Spock cut in smoothly – and certainly with the appearance of far more calmness than he was actually feeling at the moment.

Unless Spock was greatly mistaken, he believed that he had finally realized the motivation behind Sulu's eagerness to absent himself and to allow Spock and Jim a period of privacy – and also the reason why Sulu had been observing him so intently throughout this meeting.

Sulu obviously understood, on some level, that Jim and Spock required time away from the rest of the crew in this all-too-brief time before the 24-hour grace period with the _Albiorix_ ended. Perhaps he had even gotten an indication of Spock's own desperate need to speak with Jim alone, uninterrupted.

In other circumstances, Spock might have found it humiliating to think that his emotions could possibly have come so close to the surface that they could be so clearly perceived by another. However, he realized that Sulu was a scientist – trained to observe small nuances that most people would miss – and, more than that, that he was a friend.

Not only to Jim, it seemed, but to Spock himself as well – because where Spock had been wholly unsuccessful in getting Jim to speak to him alone today, Sulu had just bought him two hours.

He nodded what he hoped could be perceived as grateful acknowledgement to the man who might soon be his own second-in-command; Sulu briefly returned the nod before turning and leaving the room without another word.

The sudden silence that descended upon the room felt entirely different from the many companionable silences the two men had shared over the course of their evenings together in this room; Jim was obviously tense – and of course, Spock was as well.

"I know what you want to say to me, Spock." Jim's voice, quiet and unnaturally grim, suddenly reflected the stress and exhaustion that he had been successfully hiding from his crew for approximately the past 36.47 hours.

"I hesitate to contradict you, Jim, but I assure you that you do not know what I wish to tell you."

"You think I'm making a mistake, going to the _Albiorix_. You think it's a futile gesture, and that once I go over there, they'll kill me and blow up the _Enterprise_ – or they'll simply allow the _Enterprise_ to be taken by Cardassian forces once we're in their territory, and keep me as some sort of bargaining chip for whatever goal they seem to have."

He laughed then, a humorless, bitter sound. "They haven't been doing their homework, or they'd know that Starfleet and the Federation have a policy never to negotiate with terrorists. I'm surprised our old buddy LaFontaine didn't clue them in on that particular little glitch in their plans. And if he did – well, they're a bigger bunch of dumbasses than I give them credit for if they think the 'Fleet is somehow going to make an exception for me – for us. Because our esteemed Admiral Komack made it pretty plain that they wouldn't."

Spock truly had not doubted that Jim realized the seriousness of the situation into which he was going; for all of his well-documented disdain for "no-win situations," Jim was a realist, and Spock knew it. He had, quite simply, run out of options for saving his ship and crew – and if he gave them even a remote chance at survival by sacrificing…

But Spock could not think of that; not now. He tried to speak reasonably to his captain – though in truth, he felt far from reasonable at the moment.

"I do understand the motivation, the rationale, behind your decision – and as much as I would wish to tell you otherwise, I regrettably do not have a viable option to present to you as an alternative. But, Jim – this is not why I wished to speak to you in private today."

"You can't go in my place, if that's where that's heading, Spock. You can't, Bones can't, Hikaru can't – and you all know it. Because these stupid bastards have decided that they want –"

"Jim. Please allow me to say what I –"

"And I can't just refuse to go to them – not now. We've got nothing to bargain with, Spock – not even any goddamn fake Corbomite."

Jim was pacing back and forth across his small office, now – _somewhat like a trapped animal_, Spock reflected – and spoke without making eye contact, instead keeping his eyes focused downward as he walked. He did not seem to notice as Spock closed the distance between them, moving to stand in his path.

"I know you don't want me to go, Spock. Hell, _I _don't want to go. But there just isn't –"

"_Jim_." Jim looked up in surprise as Spock finally stopped the captain's motion by seizing him by the shoulders. "You must cease speaking now."

The nearness of Jim – the feel of warm muscle beneath his hands – was almost dizzying in its intensity. It was all he could do at this point not to pull Jim into his arms and to simply _show_ him what he seemed to refuse to be told.

Spock looked into Jim's eyes, seeing the pain there that Jim obviously wanted so badly to conceal – and he could hear Nyota's voice in his memory.

"He's only ever wanted love, Spock – and he's had to learn to do without, again and again."

_As long as I am alive, you will not do without, Jim. Not ever again._

"There's – there's nothing to say, Spock. Nothing either of us can –"

"Enough." Spock's voice was barely more than a feral growl. "No more words."

In what was simultaneously the easiest and most difficult movement he had ever made, Spock snaked an arm around Jim to pull him flush up against his own body before leaning down to kiss him.

It was a gentle, almost tentative, touching of lips – and it was over all too soon.

Spock straightened slightly – though he did not release Jim – looking into those stunned, vivid blue eyes to gauge his reaction.

Jim's entire expression had changed; he looked baffled, and somehow hopeful as well. "Spock? What…?" He trailed off, the question remaining in his eyes as he watched Spock's face intently.

It was illogical to be afraid at this moment, but Spock found himself swallowing hard, nonetheless. "This, Jim – _this_ is what I have wished to tell you. Simply that… that I love you, Jim. That I am in love with you. I do not expect you to change your course of action because of this – but I could not allow you to go without having told you."

Spock felt Jim's breathing and heart rate accelerating against him as he waited for Jim's response. He was trembling slightly – and Spock could only pull him closer as they stood together in silence.

Over the course of their partnership, Spock felt that he had become somewhat of an expert in reading Jim's expressions – but these expressions were ones he had never seen before. There was wonder, disbelief, and a fierce, shining hope that made him want to kiss those soft, full lips all over again until Jim finally realized that the love Spock felt for this amazing, precious man in his arms was the most illogically beautiful and true thing he had ever known in his life.

Suddenly, that seemed like an excellent idea – and without another word, Spock moved his free hand to cup the back of Jim's head as he brought them together for another kiss.

This one – this kiss was nothing like the first. Spock took Jim's mouth almost desperately, curling his fingers into the thick softness of his hair as he tried to bring Jim impossibly closer.

And Jim – this time, Jim responded with equal fervor, tracing the outline of Spock's lips with the tip of his tongue before moving nearer still to allow Spock's exploration of his mouth. Dimly, Spock felt Jim's fingers gripping his own hair in return, and realized that Jim's other hand had found its way under the hem of both his shirts to caress the skin of his lower back.

It was not that he had never kissed before – of course he had – or that he had not enjoyed it. In the course of their relationship, Spock had frequently found kissing Nyota to be a very pleasant experience. But his kisses with Nyota had not remotely prepared him for the rush of raw, electric heat he was feeling with Jim – and he found that he simply could not get enough of this man.

Jim, evidently, felt the same; small, inarticulate sounds came from deep in his throat as he moved to deepen the kiss, sucking Spock's tongue into his own mouth in a gesture of pure possession that shook Spock to the core.

Eventually, they had to stop long enough to get oxygen – though neither of them was willing to let go of the other as they stood together, breathing hard and looking into one another's eyes in wordless amazement.

"I – I just didn't know, Spock. _I didn't know_." Jim sounded as though he were suppressing some powerful emotions in order to be able to speak. "I've loved you… damn, Spock, I've loved you for so long – and I had no idea…"

Seeming suddenly drained, he dropped his head heavily onto Spock's shoulder.

"Jim?" Spock sensed the rush of Jim's distress. "What is it?"

"God, Spock." Jim's voice was muffled against Spock's shirt, and Spock instinctively pulled him closer still. "It's just that I've wanted this – hell, I've _dreamed _of it – for so damn long, and now I finally have it. I have it just in time to have it taken away from me."

He tightened his arms convulsively around Spock, sighing deeply. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be like this, not now. Not when this is the only chance we might ever –"

"No, Jim. Please do not apologize; I assure you that am experiencing similar feelings at this time."

Unexpectedly, Spock felt a burst of laughter against the exposed skin of his neck. "Yeah, so much for your 'unemotional Vulcan' persona – you've kinda shot that all to hell today."

Absently, Spock kissed the top of Jim's head. "I have never been able to deceive you in that regard; you have always seemed to know about my emotional responses, try as I might to repress them. Even when we were… when we were not friends, you understood me as no one else ever has."

"Same here, Spock – I've told you before. There are things about me that you just _get_, and you always have."

Disengaging himself slightly from their embrace, Spock held Jim at arms' length to look intently into that beautiful face. "But if you truly understand me as I believe you do, Jim, there is one thing you must know, and that is this: perhaps you have no choice but to go to the _Albiorix_, and perhaps I have no choice but to allow you to do so. But no matter what, Jim, I _will _come for you, and you _will_ return to me. They will not keep you from me – this I swear."

Jim laughed, somewhat unsteadily. "Funny – Bones said almost the exact same thing, word for word. He said – let me see if I can get this right – 'The _Enterprise_ – or, hell, maybe just me and the goddamn hobgoblin – we'll get you out of there.'"

He offered Spock a halfhearted smile. "I don't know, Spock – maybe you two are on the same wavelength, after all."

Spock's hand moved to stroke a stray lock of hair from Jim's forehead, and Jim closed his eyes in pleasure, leaning slightly into the gesture.

"Even McCoy cannot _always_ be irrational or incorrect, Jim – it is statistically impossible."

Jim's eyes flew open again, and – as Spock had hoped – he let out a surprised bark of a laugh before shaking his head with a smile.

"How the hell is it that you're the one who can always do that to me? Seriously, Spock – for all that you always claim to be so serious, you're the one who manages to make me laugh when I think there's no _way_ I could think anything was funny." Leaning forward, he touched his forehead lightly to Spock's, their breath mingling between them. "Like I said – you know me."

The sadness crept back into his voice. "I just wish we could have had more time – it doesn't seem fair."

"I am in complete agreement with you, Jim – and I can only regret that I required such an extreme circumstance to gather the courage to tell you of my feelings for you."

Jim shook his head. "Not just you, Spock – I was afraid to tell you, too. Didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, or put you in an awkward situation if you, well, if you didn't feel the same way."

Spock's eyes widened, just a bit, in surprise – and at Jim's expression of curiosity, he explained. "Nyota told me exactly that, Jim – that you would keep your feelings from me to spare me from experiencing discomfort, or from burdening me with the knowledge that you loved me, which you supposed that I would not reciprocate."

It seemed almost surreal to contemplate that his conversation with Nyota had taken place barely more than 48.4 hours ago; so much had happened in the interim that it felt somehow – even to Spock's finely-tuned sense of the passage of time – that it had been much longer ago than that.

Now Jim's eyes were wide. "You went to Nyota for _advice_ about this?" He looked shocked, and Spock was almost – almost – amused.

"Indeed I did not, Jim – but I believe you are aware that one need not actively seek out Nyota's advice in order to receive it."

Jim snorted a brief laugh before Spock went on. "She was quite adamant that I needed to tell you of my love for you – and, as usual, her counsel was excellent."

"Well, you'll be glad to know that Bones told me the same damn thing – and if that shocks you, you better believe it shocked me more. Especially since he seems to have figured out that I was in love with you a _long_ time before I was able to admit it to myself. And here I thought I'd been playing it all cool, but from what he tells me, it looks like I've been pretty obvious about it for a long time – except to myself and to you."

He paused, a light glowing in his eyes that Spock had never seen there before. "I think I'm going to enjoy being obvious to you."

Never breaking their eye contact, Jim ran one hand slowly down the length of Spock's arm from his shoulder to his hand, before entwining their fingers together in a gesture that nearly shattered Spock with its casual intimacy.

Jim smiled knowingly. "Yeah, I've heard about you Vulcans and your hands, Spock – and I think it's amazing." The pad of his thumb drew lazy circles in Spock's palm – and Spock felt a sharp spike of arousal that made him groan involuntarily.

Silently, Jim raised their joined hands to his lips, kissing each of Spock's fingertips in turn and watching with a glint of fierce possession in his eyes as Spock began to tremble.

Jim's voice was low, and indescribably compelling. "You're mine, Spock – finally, finally _mine_ – and I want to know all the things about you that I never had the chance to know. Like now," he whispered, placing a soft kiss in the corner of Spock's mouth. "Like how beautiful you are right this very minute, when I'm making you fall apart just a little."

_Beautiful_.

That James Kirk, of all the beings in the universe, would find _him_ beautiful seemed almost impossible for Spock to believe. But there Jim was, looking into his eyes with an expression of love and joy that Spock had always hoped to see there – an expression that said wordlessly that he wished never to stop looking into Spock's eyes.

Then suddenly, and despite Jim's valiant attempts to keep it at bay, reality came crashing back into Spock's consciousness.

He would have Jim with him for another 3.77 hours – not nearly long enough.

_Forever could not be long enough with this man_, Spock realized.

Jim immediately registered the change in Spock's expression, the renewed tension in his stance. "I know," he said sympathetically. "I can't help thinking about it either – though God knows I was giving it my best shot."

Spock did not think of himself as impulsive; it was not in his nature as a Vulcan, or as a scientist. However – if any situation might call for impulsive behavior, it would be this one; and the idea that had just occurred to him was far too compelling to be resisted. If Jim agreed…

"Since there is nothing to be gained by worrying about the immediate future – and since our time together is regrettably limited – I believe that you were correct in your earlier efforts not to concentrate on the current crisis in which we find ourselves, Jim. If we can focus on the time we _do_ have, and not what lies ahead, we will have less to regret when…"

"When we're apart. Yeah." Jim smiled sadly, reaching up to gently follow the curve of Spock's cheekbone with the tip of one finger. "Spock, that might be the most _logical_ argument for a heavy-duty make-out session I've ever heard in my life."

Spock almost allowed himself a smile in return. "Though I believe I would certainly be amenable to, as you put it, a 'heavy-duty make-out session,' I would like to propose a slightly different alternative, with your permission."

Jim's face was alight with sudden excitement – and, not for the first time, Spock realized that Jim knew exactly what he had meant. "Do you… do you want to meld with me, Spock – for real, this time? It's not too much for you, too soon?"

With that, Spock tightened his arms around Jim again – pulling him so close that they were pressed entirely together from knee to shoulder – and only the realization that Jim could not breathe made him slacken his hold even slightly.

Spock's voice was barely a whisper in the softly rounded ear that was nearest his lips.

"I could never have too much of you, Jim. And as to it being too soon – I can only wish this had taken place sooner."

Brushing his lips against Jim's ear then, he drew slightly back in their embrace, moving one arm to lift his hand next to the psi points around Jim's temple before hesitating.

"Are you sure that _you_ wish this, Jim? I do not wish to force this upon you."

Jim's answer was to seize Spock's hand and to pull it roughly to his own face – moving Spock's fingers into position around the orbital bone of his right eye.

"Do it, Spock. Now."

The last time that Spock had attempted a meld with Jim, he had gone into it with the understanding that it would be only the most superficial of brushes with Jim's mind – just enough to reassure him as he struggled to free himself from the influence of Treya's drugs.

Of course, it had not turned out that way – but neither had it been a true meld, the kind in which both participants could fully share their thoughts with one another. This time would be different.

"My mind to your mind," he whispered. "My thoughts to your thoughts."

And with no effort at all, he was simply _there_, and Jim – Jim was everywhere. The strong, vibrant mind that surrounded him already felt so familiar, and Spock could only wonder that it had taken him so long to realize that this was so obviously

_Where you've always belonged. You just **fit** here, don't you? Don't you feel it, too?_

Jim's thoughts felt like a caress; Spock was somewhat startled, having never experienced actual physical _sensation_ as a result of a mind meld, but

_I'm extraordinary; how many times do I have to tell you?_

_I have always believed you, Jim._

Jim answered with what felt like a laugh, but which was truly only a thought – _a laugh that's only in my **head**, that's just **weird**, Spock _– before they both went back to their fascinated explorations of one another's mental landscapes.

_Tessellation,_ came Jim thoughts – _it's a tessellation in here, Spock. The patterns… they're just… just perfectly precise, and mathematical, and **gorgeous**._

_As a tessellation involves a covering of an infinite geometric plane without gaps or overlaps by congruent plane figures of one type or a few types, the comparison is not entirely apt, Jim – my mind is hardly infinite._

Another surge of warm amusement from Jim. _Hardly a plane, either, Spock – but you know what I'm saying. Or… well, **not **saying. This is – seriously, this is just **weird**. Awesome – don't get me wrong – but it is **so** weird._

But Spock was lost. If he was a tessellation – precise, meticulously organized – then Jim's thoughts created a fractal, a geometric pattern repeated infinitely at every possible scale – a pattern so complex in its magnificence that it could not even be represented by classical geometry.

_This, Jim. This is beautiful._

And Jim was showing him such trust – he had thrown up no defensive walls and was allowing Spock access to every little corner of his thoughts, which was proving utterly irresistible. There before him, all around him, was Jim – Jim in all the ways Spock had come to know him so well, and in so many ways that he was just beginning to know him.

But what was overwhelming to Spock was the rush of pure love that came to him from Jim – and kept coming, _again and again, and more, and more, and **more**…_

And with the love, the amazement – bordering on disbelief – that Spock could actually love him, as well. Because – yes, there it was; the loneliness and insecurity that he hid so well that almost no one would believe it was there. An emptiness – one that had been there for as long as Jim could remember – that made Spock ache when he felt it. Made him wish to fill it – to fill all the empty places, take away the hurt, love this man as he deserved to be loved, forever.

_Never lonely again, Jim – never, ever again._ Spock took a deep, shuddering breath, allowing himself to show Jim all of what he felt for him – the respect that had grown into friendship, and finally into the immeasurable love that now surged through him. And always – always, since the very beginning, had been the undeniable spark of attraction that had turned into the constant, hot throb of desire.

_Jim, Jim, I love you, I want you, I have loved you so completely for so long that I cannot identify when I began, I have wanted you so badly that it has been all I can do to refrain from…_

But then Jim's mouth was on his own again, and Spock's thoughts scattered as he was flooded with sensation as he experienced every facet of the kiss through the meld. He was both kissing and kissed – feeling Jim's tongue curling around his own, feeling Jim's pleasure at the silky texture of Spock's hair between his fingers, feeling the heavy heat of Jim's urgent desire for Spock – the exultation that came with that, because _he wants me, Jim wants me_ –

Simply feeling – _feeling_ as he had never done before.

_Mine._ Whether that thought came from Jim or Spock was not entirely clear – and it did not matter. _Mine, mine, mine._

_Love you, want you, love you, so beautiful, mine, mine now, always mine._

Somehow – he was not certain exactly how – Spock felt Jim pulling him closer and closer within their meld. Spock allowed himself to be pulled gladly, glorying in the unexpected strength and power of Jim's mind – for here, truly, was an equal, a partner who would be infinitely fascinating, exciting… there could be no one else like Jim.

Jim was holding Spock's hand tightly against his own face with one hand, the other threaded firmly through Spock's hair as he continued kissing him deeply, fiercely – as though he would pull Spock entirely into himself, as though he would never stop.

_Always mine, **nobody** can take this moment away from me – always, always, always, mine, mine, mine, mine, **mine**_.

_Always yours, Jim. Forever. _

What happened next would never be entirely clear to Spock – when he looked back, he could recall only that Jim had gathered him so close that he had no way of knowing where either of them began or ended. There was no distance, there was no difference – there was only this thrilling union, this _oneness_ that felt so unutterably right.

Then, without warning, a vivid, electric white heat had sparked through his mind, a rush of something beyond pure pleasure so strong that he felt his knees buckle, and he might have fallen had Jim not reached to steady him.

Then the kiss – and the meld – had ended, and Jim had taken a step backward and was looking at him with dazed, lust-blown eyes that now held concern bordering on panic.

_Holy shit, Spock – what just happened? What did I do?_

Spock's eyes widened when he realized that Jim had not actually spoken. He had not spoken, they were not touching, and yet…

_You're still here – or I'm still there, or… what **is** this?_

_Jim, stop, please – just for a moment. I require a moment to compose my thoughts._

Still breathing heavily, Spock attempted to withdraw mentally into himself – a state that was usually easily achieved, since he practiced it regularly in the course of his daily meditation. But at this moment, it was difficult – nearly impossible – to pull himself away from Jim, to allow himself to think.

_To pull away…_

"Jim." Spock's voice was quiet. "I am unsure of how to explain this to you."

"Spock, just tell me. Just _tell_ me – why we're still in each other's heads, even though…"

Jim froze, then, as realization dawned. "Spock. Did I… did I _bond_ us?"

"I did not believe that such a thing was possible for a human to achieve, Jim – but it seems to be the case. Our presence in each other's heads, as you put it, seems to be evidence of a rudimentary bond between us."

Spock watched Jim carefully, trying to gauge his reaction; he seemed confused, agitated, but not upset as he tried to make sense of what was a completely extraordinary situation.

Then the slightest of smiles dawned on Jim's face. "You don't mind, Spock? It's not too much of an intrusion?"

"You could never be an intruder in my mind, Jim. Moreover, _extraordinary_ as you are –" Jim smiled, as he had intended – "you must understand that the bond could never have been created without my consent."

Spock closed the small distance between them, pulling Jim into his arms again. "I had certainly not anticipated this development, but this bond – I desire this bond, Jim, beyond all things. Its presence means that we will carry one another with us at all times from now on – even when we are separated."

Spock could feel Jim's intake of breath against his neck. "Really, Spock? We can… we can _keep_ this?"

"We can, Jim – and we will. It will not be a full bond – it cannot be, as it is simply too new." He leaned down to whisper into Jim's ear. "We can, however, make it stronger, if you would care to resume the meld, and…"

"And _then _we can have the heavy-duty make-out session?" Jim looked up with a ghost of a teasing smile on his face – and tears shining in his eyes that Spock knew Jim hoped he would not notice.

"We do have another hour before Mr. Sulu resumes communication with us, Captain."

Jim attempted a laugh. "You're calling me 'Captain' again? What's up with that?"

Spock's eyes were warm with affection. "I do not call you 'Captain' in my own thoughts, Jim." Leaning forward, he softly kissed Jim's forehead. "When I think of you, you are _ashayam_, you are _k'diwa_ – you are_ t'hy'la_."

Jim closed his eyes briefly – seeming not to notice when a single tear ran, unchecked, down his cheek. "Tell me."

Brushing the moisture from Jim's face with the pad of his thumb, Spock whispered, "_Ashayam, k'diwa _– this is to say that you are my beloved, my dear one. _ T'hy'la_ – this means that you are my friend, my brother, my lover."

Taking Spock's hand, Jim led him back toward his private quarters. "Feel free to call me any of those things, Spock, anytime you'd like."

~o0o~

* * *

~o0o~

Jim opened his eyes, glancing despite himself at the chronometer. Their time was nearly up; Sulu would be contacting them in another seven minutes. He sighed.

"I know, Jim." He turned to look into beautiful, velvety brown eyes as Spock watched him intently. Spock was still lying on his side next to him on top of the covers of Jim's bed, but had propped his head up on one elbow – the better, Jim supposed, to look at him. It was hard not to be embarrassed by that, but he was going to have to try. There were no secrets between them now – not anymore – so embarrassment would be kind of pointless.

Jim had not imagined that there could be so intimate an experience as the one he had just shared with Spock – which was all the more amazing considering that they had remained fully clothed for the entire time.

_Rand's gonna kill me that we both had our boots on the bedspread,_ he thought.

_I doubt that highly, Jim._

Jim looked up at Spock, shocked for just a moment. "Whoa. It's going to take some serious getting used to, realizing that you can do that now."

He paused briefly, considering. "How come I'm not getting your weird little background thoughts, too? And don't try telling me you don't have them. I've been in there, now – I know better."

Spock reached over absently to stroke one of Jim's eyebrows with the pad of one thumb. "Of course I, too, have 'weird little background thoughts,' as you put it. However, I am able to withdraw myself fractionally from the bond, in order to keep those thoughts from distracting you. It is something you will learn to do, as well, when you need to. At this time, you do not need to."

He stopped then, placing his fingertips lightly over Jim's mouth. "And before you ask – no. Your thoughts are not distracting to me. I have, in fact, been enjoying this insight into the workings of your mind."

Jim kissed Spock's fingers before shaking his head slightly to move them. "It's not as though my mind has actually been working much, Spock – I think that pretty much my every thought for the past hour or so has been some variation on how much I love you."

"All the more reason for me to have enjoyed them, _ashayam_."

A pause, and then Jim rolled onto his side to face Spock, pulling him close. "You realize that after this, we won't have another chance to be alone together."

Jim felt Spock's nod against his hair. "It would seem unlikely that we would find such an opportunity."

They'd have a little over two hours to get the final details ironed out before Jim beamed onto the _Albiorix _– not that there was really much ironing out to do, not with this crew. Jim had decided to take the bastards at their word – that he would be treated like an "honored guest" – and packed a few of his personal effects to take along with him. Of course, he didn't really believe them – but hell, it was worth a shot, and he really didn't enjoy being taken hostage without so much as his toothbrush.

And who the hell else in the galaxy besides fucking Jim Kirk would know what he wanted to fucking _pack_ in case of a hostage situation? Not for the first time, he wondered if he was some sort of cosmic disaster magnet.

He moved slightly away so that he could see Spock's face; he didn't want to have to say any of it, needed to say all of it – whether Spock was in his head or not. He needed to say it.

"But, Spock… if, well. If I don't get a chance to say this later – well, this is going to sound _so_ fucked up, but these past couple hours with you have been the happiest I've ever been. I can't thank you enough for giving me this wonderful gift." He swallowed hard. "And if for some reason we don't end up seeing each other again, I want you to always remember that – that you made me happy like nobody else ever could. You… you filled those empty places, Spock – and no matter what, you'll always be there. No one can take that away from me."

"_Jim_." Spock's voice was unaccustomedly raspy. "You cannot…"

"No, Spock." He buried his head into the curve of Spock's neck. "Don't talk now – you don't have to say it, because I already know. I know all of it. We don't have long. Just – just hang on to me, will you? Until we have to let go – just hang on."

Spock's arms tightened fiercely around him then, and he held on wordlessly. But his thoughts came clearly into Jim's mind through the silence of the room.

_No matter where you are, no matter where you go, my t'hy'la, never forget – I will never, **never **let you go._

~o0o~

* * *

~o0o~

"There's another hypo of your allergy stuff in the bag there, Jim – after 60 days, if you still need it, you can use it then. God willing, we've gotten you out of there by then – but your system can't deal with more than two doses of that in a row, or I'd have packed you another."

"Yes, Mother." Smiling fondly at Bones, Jim zipped the bag shut. "I've got the hypo – and the nutritional supplements, and everything else."

"Jim. Dammit, I don't know how to say any of this, but…"

"Don't, Bones. Just… don't. First of all, I honestly don't think I could handle it right now, man. Second – well, shit. All these years – we've never had to say it. We don't need to start now."

"Captain." It was Sulu's disembodied voice over the intercom. "Fifteen minutes."

"Got it, Mr. Sulu. Thank you." Throwing his backpack over one shoulder, Jim turned to his oldest friend. "Guess it's show time, buddy." He turned to walk out of his quarters, then stopped again.

"I know this is hard, Bones – you don't have to come with me. We can just do the good-bye thing, or whatever – we can just do it here."

He couldn't tell from the expression on McCoy's face whether he was going to yell at him or burst into tears – maybe both. The doctor strode forward and planted both hands firmly on Jim's shoulders.

"Get this straight, idiot – I'd go with you onto that goddamn alien bucket of bolts if I thought they'd let me, or if I thought it'd do any good. I'm not leaving you a second before I have to – got it?"

At Jim's wordless nod, they turned and left together – one of McCoy's hands still on Jim's shoulder as they walked.

He felt like a ghost already on his own ship, walking through the corridors past silent, grim-faced members of his crew. They all saluted – every last one of them – even though Jim had never required that of them. Occasionally, one of them would nod, try to smile – and he always tried to smile back. They needed their captain, even if it was only for a few more minutes.

When he and Bones walked into the transporter room, Jim saw that Spock, Sulu, and Uhura were waiting for him – and another look around the room revealed that Chekov had insisted upon manning the transporter himself. He hadn't asked any of them to be there – but he was unutterably glad that they were.

"Thanks, everyone. For all the hard work today – for being here now – all of it." Jim's voice was tight; this was the worst of it, right here. "Let's do this thing, now."

He walked over to the communications console to one side of the room. "Nyota? Is this ready to go?"

"Yes, Captain." As always, she sounded crisp and professional – and if her eyes were shining with unshed tears, Jim was not going to mention it.

"Very well." He drew a deep breath, and felt an odd calm descend upon him.

"Attention, everyone – this is the captain speaking. As I'm sure you all know, I have been invited to join the _Albiorix_ and their crew for what could be an extended period of time. As I'm also sure you know, on any away mission, there's always the chance that someone may not return. For me, that chance is better – or maybe worse – than usual this time around. And as little as I like it, I know I'm leaving you all in one hell of a bad situation. But I couldn't go without telling you how unbelievably proud I am to have been – to be – your captain, to have spent these past two years with you."

"You hear it time and again – you're the best of the best of Starfleet. You hear it so often that maybe you start to think it's just a bunch of P.R. bullshit. Hear me when I tell you that it is not; you all – every one of you – are amazing. You're bright, you're unbelievably good at what you do, and you work harder than any group of people I've ever known. Even, I might add, when I've specifically ordered you not to – and don't think I don't know how many of you are on your third or fourth shift in a row right now. Mr. Sulu's been telling on you. And no matter what, you work _together_ – personal differences aside, you learned early on that no matter how good we are as individuals, we're better together. You all make the kind of team that most captains can't even dream of. "

He paused for a moment, thankful that he still had this – that he could still manage to be Captain Kirk when he needed to be.

"I have no doubt that you will all give your full support to Mr. Spock when he takes command of the Enterprise in just a few minutes. I can only ask that you give him what you have given to me every day of this mission – the effort, the loyalty, all of it. I am certain that you will. I know that you all share my faith in his judgment and his ability to keep you and the _Enterprise_ safe – and that you'll help him in any way you can."

He looked around at his command crew as they stood near him, struggling to remain stoic.

_Some with more success than others,_ Jim noted fondly as he tried not to meet Pavel's eyes.

"They say," he continued his address, "that space is a tough place to be without your friends. I'm grateful that because of all of you – this whole magnificent crew – I've never had to know that. And I don't want you thinking now that you all have failed me somehow, or that you're abandoning me. I know that you're not. But you've got to understand that if somehow this doesn't work out as we've hoped – if I don't come back to the ship – that this is how I wanted it. If I can make a sacrifice that keeps you safe, it's one I make gladly. And no, I know I'll never be the hero my dad was – it was clear to him that day on the _Kelvin_ that he wouldn't make it, and he sacrificed his life knowingly. Me – you know how I am with no-win situations, and I refuse to believe there's no way out of this one."

"But if it turns out that I was wrong, know that it's all right. If I can keep our lady – keep all of you – out of harm's way for even a little while, then that's all right, too. So – for me – do whatever you can to keep yourselves out of trouble once I'm gone, will you? I suppose that's really all I wanted to say to you – except that it has been the honor of my life to work with you all. And I'll be looking forward to saying that to each of you again in person – hopefully sooner rather than later."

Jim clicked the microphone off, and turned back toward the small group in the transporter room.

"So." He drew another deep breath – but for now, at least, Captain Kirk was nowhere to be found. It was just Jim now – Jim, left to say goodbye to his best friends.

"Just so you know, I hate this shit."

"Duly noted, sir." As usual, Hikaru got it – Jim was pretty sure that Sulu hated to cry in front of people as badly as he did.

Except then the sorry bastard managed to ruin the entire effect, as the bad-ass expression he'd been trying for failed miserably, and his face crumpled. Jim stepped forward and grabbed him in a fierce hug.

"You know we'll come after you, no matter what – right?" Sulu's voice was muffled into Jim's shoulder. "We'll get you back here, Kirk, one way or the other. This isn't goodbye, so don't even say it." There was a sniffle that tried to be a laugh. "Stupid prick."

"Fine, then, asshole. I won't say it." Pushing Hikaru gently away, he delivered a half-hearted cuff to the side of his head. "You've got some serious shoes to fill, Sulu – make sure that you give Spock everything he always gave me."

An incredulous look from Hikaru told him that he was pretty sure how he and Spock had spent the past two hours – and Jim smacked him on the head again.

Harder, this time.

"Christ, Sulu. You _know_ what I meant. And I know you already know all the ins and outs of how the ship works day to day – I know you could probably fly it through the eye of a needle if you had to. But that's not it. You need to question him, Sulu – not doubt him, but _question_ him – because sometimes you need somebody to do that in order to help you really see a situation. You need somebody you can trust – and somebody who you know trusts you – to get that done. I know you can do that."

Sulu nodded. "I can; I will. You can count on me, Captain."

"Always have. You know that."

Jim turned to Nyota, who had moved to stand by Pavel at the transporter console. "I don't have to tell you, do I? You already know. Just do what you always do; be that phenomenal Communications officer, that wonderful friend, that unbelievably loving – and unbelievably _nosy_ – person you've always been. You'll look out for this bunch, I know – and they'll look out for you, too, on those days when you aren't as tough as you think you are."

Lips pressed tightly together, Nyota nodded – wordless, for once – before Jim pulled her into a tight hug, as well.

Chekov watched the two of them, blue eyes wide and too-shiny, as Jim let go of Nyota and looked in his direction as well.

"Please, Keptin." His voice was no more than a whisper. "I do not wish to cry in front of them."

Jim reached forward and ruffled Pavel's curls – which got just a bit of a laugh out of him, if only because he knew that Jim normally did it to piss him off.

"I know, Pavel – me neither." Against his better judgment – because now they'd _both_ probably cry, dammit – Jim hugged Pavel close.

"I'm sorry your birthday got fucked up," he whispered into Pavel's hair, "but I'm glad I got to see you so happy. That's what I need you to do for me, Pavel – just remember to be happy, and remind them all that it's okay for them to be happy sometimes, too. We'll – shit."

He drew a sharp breath, then, and Chekov's arms tightened comfortingly around him. "We'll be together again," Jim murmured hoarsely. "I know we will."

"_Da_, Keptin." Chekov had given up entirely and did not seem to care that the tears were streaming freely down his face now.

Finally, Jim turned back toward the transporter pad – and there, standing shoulder to shoulder as though they'd been that way all their lives, were Spock and Bones.

To have to say goodbye to both of them like this – this was really, really almost more than he could do.

Bones cut him off before he could speak, his voice even gruffer than usual. "Know what you're gonna tell us, Jim. The two of us – we need to look out for each other with you gone. You're gonna feel better if you know we've got each other's backs like we've always had yours, and like you've always had ours. So that's what we'll do, Jim. You've got our promise."

Spock nodded in quiet agreement. "In your absence, Jim, I will endeavor to be the friend to Doctor McCoy that you have always been – and I know that he will show me the same unswerving loyalty that he has always shown you, even when he is otherwise behaving irrationally or illogically."

"In other words," McCoy chimed in, "all the damn time." He shot a look of grudging fondness toward Spock. "Green-blooded hobgoblin."

Spock raised a single eyebrow. "I believe this, Captain, is where I am called upon to refer to the doctor as a 'big, dumb hick.' Is that correct?"

Jim tried not to laugh, tried not to cry – because even now, when he knew they were dying inside, these two dearest friends had found a way to try to be there for him.

"God, I love you – _both_ of you – so damn much, I don't even know how to tell you."

"So don't tell us – hell, it's not like we don't already know. Just get your ass back here in one piece, or we'll do it for you."

"I know, Bones." Jim saw McCoy taking a step back – knowing he'd want to say a separate goodbye to Spock – and grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Man, I'd have never gotten onto the Enterprise if it weren't for you. Wouldn't have made it through that first year at the Academy – and don't think I don't know it. Couldn't have asked for a better friend. So, just… thanks. And don't ever forget how much I love you – always have. You big dumb hick."

Bones finally broke down then, and the two men held on tightly to one another as he shook with silent sobs. After a couple of moments, he'd pulled himself together again, giving Jim one of his rare genuine smiles.

"Love you too, infant." Taking Jim's face in his hands, he gently kissed him on the forehead. "Promise me that you'll at least_ try_ to take care of yourself."

"You know I will."

Then Bones had gone to join the others – and it was just Spock, looking at him as though he were memorizing every last detail of Jim's face.

"You know I'll come back to you."

"You, in turn, know that I will come and find you if you do not."

"I'm just – I'm so sorry. If only I hadn't been such a coward, if I'd gotten up the nerve and told you, we could have had more time."

"Jim. You are never a coward. And we _will_ have more time – we simply do not know when."

Jim's stomach twisted, as the harsh reality of the situation set in – again. "Logically, can you really say that, Spock?"

Finally it was Jim's turn to be pulled into a comforting embrace; Spock's arms surrounded him, holding him close and giving him strength.

"I can say that, Jim, because I have learned from my experiences with you that it is inadvisable to believe in no-win situations. My previous statement is, therefore, entirely logical."

Jim leaned back in Spock's arms, looking into those beautiful dark eyes.

"I don't want to leave you," he whispered.

"I do not wish for you to leave me, _k'diwa_. I wish to go in your place, or to go with you and keep you safe from any who would harm you. But here," Spock gently stroked Jim's temple with the back of one finger, "here in our minds, we will not be apart. I do not know exactly what it will be like, but I know we will be able to feel one another's presence."

The thought of that was unspeakably comforting.

"Keptin?" Chekov's voice was tentative. "Two minutes."

Jim nodded briefly in Pavel's direction. "Thank you, Mr. Chekov."

He turned back to Spock, at a loss for words. They stood that way for a long moment before Spock pulled him close again, held him tight – and words were not necessary.

_Mine. You are mine, this is mine _–_ forever mine, always mine._

They released one another, breathing fast – and Jim finally turned and took the last few steps to his place on the transporter pad.

"Mr. Chekov – ready when you are."

He felt the familiar sensations of the teleporter around him, and as the _Enterprise_ dissolved in his field of vision, Jim felt Spock's voice once more inside his own head, strong and sure.

_Yours. Always, always yours._

~o0o~

* * *

~o0o~

**_So. There you are. I don't suppose I need to tell you now that I am really, really nervous (translated: totally freaking out) about what you will have thought of it - so if you're so inclined to share your thoughts, please do._**

**_Meanwhile, I'd be remiss if I didn't take a moment to thank my own personal muse T'Key'la for her constant loving support, for listening to me whine, and just for generally being awesome. She has had to deal with me through the writing of this entire chapter, bless her heart. Love you, sweetie!_**


	25. The Waiting Game

**Annoyingly long A/N: **_I know. I **suck**. _

_I cannot believe it has taken me this long to update, and I can only apologize, with my only feeble excuse being that real life has taken me out to the woodshed and knocked the living tar out of me. Will hopefully do better with summer coming._

_That all said – you should know these things: First, this story isn't **nearly** over. It might be about halfway through, frankly – and maybe not even that. After the Big Drama of Chapter 24, some of the things you'll read will seem kind of anticlimactic – like this chapter, I'd imagine – but they're things that I need to have in the story, so I'll beg your indulgence._

_Finally, speaking of "things I need to have in the story" – I know that there will be some readers who will find my characters and/or their actions/reactions to be OOC, and others who will be perturbed by plot developments that don't go in a way they feel would be appropriate for a military setting such as a starship. To those readers, I apologize once more, preemptively – but I will also tell you that what you will read here is my vision for my story. No matter how flawed the finished product may be, I have indeed carefully considered what I am going to write. _

_Feel free, of course, to let me know that you don't like it – but please also understand that your criticism, however well-intentioned, is highly unlikely to convince me to change my own ideas about plot and/or characterization. In other words – I'm sorry there will be parts that will drive some of you nuts, but I'm also at peace with that._

~o~

* * *

~o~_  
_

**But over all things brooding slept  
The quiet sense of something lost.**  
Lord Alfred Tennyson

~o~

* * *

~o~

Five days.

Even though it had been the better part of a week, he still felt as though somehow he'd gone to the wrong spot on the bridge, and was working in Spock's place by mistake.

Hikaru knew better, of course – and he knew that as wrong as he felt at the First Officer's station, Spock felt exponentially worse in the Captain's chair. It wasn't logical, of course, but it had taken Spock three days to manage to actually sit down in that chair – and Hikaru had seen the look on his face when he'd done so.

_Anyone who thinks that Vulcans don't have expressions is either not paying attention or doesn't know what they're looking for_, he thought. Because he'd been able to tell that somehow when he'd sat in the chair, Spock was finally admitting to himself that this wasn't going to be over quickly. They were still in exactly the same situation they'd been in five days previously; stalled without their shields in Cardassian space, with no prospect of help from Starfleet, and with Jim being held hostage by – hell, by whatever they were.

It wasn't clear whether everybody else on the alien craft was a shapeshifter like their guest Treya – who, much to her own dismay, had remained behind on the _Enterprise_. Seemed that Jim had been right; despite the enormous damage that she'd been able to cause on board, she was more or less a minor player in this whole God-awful affair. At any rate, her boss Gandhar hadn't had a problem with leaving her behind – as a spy, or for some other reason that wasn't clear to any of them. One way or the other, she was currently stuck in the brig, where she was pissing off Security – and amazing the gang in Science – with her propensity to change her shape repeatedly, either out of boredom or just out of sheer spite.

"Do you have a moment, Mr. Sulu?" He started briefly, looking up to see his own replacement at the helm, young Nazim Ghanem, standing before him. He'd wondered when they were going to have this conversation. _Now's as good a time as any, _he thought_._

"Sure, Ensign." Hikaru glanced over to the helm, catching Pavel's eye immediately. "Mr. Chekov – 'conn's yours for now."

The navigator nodded his acknowledgment. 'Yes, Sir."

Hikaru had, quite frankly, expected it to feel weird to be one of Pavel's commanding officers; he realized rapidly that he hadn't given Pavel nearly enough credit. The combination of Pavel's complete professionalism and his unquestioning love for Hikaru had enabled him to make their interactions on the bridge utterly comfortable and natural, and to disconnect their professional relationship from their personal relationship seemingly without effort. In a situation that otherwise seemed to provide nothing but non-stop stress, Hikaru was inexpressibly grateful to Pavel for making at least that aspect of his job so easy.

The door to the smaller of two meeting rooms right off the bridge swished shut behind them. "So, Ghanem – you wanted to talk to me?"

"You know why, Mr. Sulu." Ghanem looked concerned, and more than a little perturbed. "You of all people know that I wasn't anywhere on the rota for serving as pilot – much less to… to replace you at a time like this." He shook his head. "I know I'm here because of your recommendation – but, why?"

"Better question, Nazim, is why you signed on for Ops on the _Enterprise_ when you know as well as I do that you're the best damn pilot that's come out of the Academy in I don't know how long. Including me."

Sulu paused, looking searchingly at the young ensign. "You could have been –_ should_ have been -piloting a ship right out of the Academy. Screw the rota – there's nobody on this ship better qualified to take the helm from me, and that's no secret to anybody who's ever seen you fly. Hell, you were two whole years behind me at Starfleet, and still good enough to make me jealous – the damn flight instructors never shut up about you. You've got skills, Ghanem, and you know it."

Ghanem was silent for a long moment before sighing deeply. "Maybe that's true, maybe it's not. I don't know. But I do know that whatever you might think of my abilities, I signed on for Operations. Until last week, I was in _procurement_, for God's sake." Realizing that his voice had risen, he paused, taking another deep breath. "I didn't have any intention of flying."

Hikaru's reply was quiet. "You think I don't know that? Or that I didn't hear about that accident you were in back home in Turkey right after graduation?" He reached forward to grasp the young pilot's arm. "I know all about it, Nazim – because you can bet that I did some poking around when you joined the crew and _didn't_ enlist as a pilot. So, yeah – I know about those young kids who flew into your path too late for you to evade them, and I know that they both died in the crash and that you damn near did, too."

He blew out a short, exasperated breath. And – well, Christ, Nazim. I get it – you somehow felt like the whole thing was your fault, and somehow it made you less worthy to be a pilot. But here's the thing; _you_ of all people should know that I would never jeopardize the _Enterprise_, especially not now, by recommending you for this job if I didn't think – hell, if I didn't _know_ – that you could fly this ship better than anybody else here."

He laughed quietly, humorlessly. "Besides me, of course."

Ghanem was perfectly still then, watching Sulu wordlessly.

"Is there anything else, Ensign?"

Nazim started slightly, as though surprised to be spoken to – and then seeming slightly embarrassed to have been startled. "No. No, sir. Nothing else."

"Very well, then, Ghanem. Back to your post. Tell Mr. Chekov I'll be back to the bridge shortly."

Nodding his acknowledgment, Ghanem turned and left the room.

As the door slid shut again, Sulu sat down at the conference table and reached toward the intercom. "Sulu to McCoy."

"Yeah, Hikaru. What's goin' on?"

"Nothing, Doc. Just wanted to check in and see how everything was going with our… observation."

"Nobody's with me, Sulu. You don't have to talk in code."

"All right, then – how's he doing?"

Shortly after Spock had assumed command, McCoy and Sulu had discovered a mutual concern for the acting captain's well-being – especially since Spock himself seemed not to care at all about the state of his own health.

Not that either man blamed Spock – after all, he had a lot more to deal with than keeping track of how he was eating and sleeping.

"Well, I know he's at least eating; between me and Nyota, we've each managed to get him to the Officers' Mess and eat at least one meal a day with him. Can't really tell you how much sleep he has or hasn't gotten in the past two days – as CMO, I could order him to wear a bio-monitor, but I don't really want to do anything to cause him more stress than he's already got. He tells me he's doin' all right."

McCoy snorted briefly. "Actually, he tells me, 'my condition, though less than optimal, is adequate.' Can't imagine what he's really goin' through – damn hobgoblin." Though the doctor's words sounded frustrated, his tone held nothing but sympathy.

Sulu sighed. "Yeah, it's hard to imagine. Bad as it is for the rest of us, it's got to be exponentially worse for Spock."

Shit – even that was an understatement. Spock had been given command of the _Enterprise_ in what was arguably the worst situation they'd experienced in the two years since their run-in with the _Narada_ – and up to this point, he'd had no support whatsoever from Starfleet. He was in charge of finding a way out of this God-awful mess …

…And he had to do all of it without Jim.

"Has he said anything to you, Doc? About whether he can tell how Jim's doing?"

Shortly after Jim's departure, Spock had briefly told Command team about the nature of the telepathic Vulcan bond that had spontaneously formed between himself and Jim – not because he particularly wished to share details about their relationship, but because he thought it might be beneficial for the other members of the team to be aware of a potentially useful link to their captain.

"He hasn't. And I haven't asked. Figured if there was anything I needed to know, Spock would tell me. Just… well, shit."

The doctor sighed resignedly. "Spock's so damn private anyway – and like I said before, I don't want to pile any more stress onto him, not now. So, no – I don't know what he knows about Jim. Not that I'm not dying to ask him."

"Yeah, I know." For all that McCoy was trying to be understanding and patient for Spock's benefit, Sulu also knew that he, too, was feeling Jim's loss keenly.

Hell, they all were.

At that moment, the door of the ready room swished open, and Uhura appeared in the doorway.

"Sorry to interrupt – but we've got a transmission from Admiral Pike on the secure channel. Should I…"

Sulu nodded decisively in answer to her as yet unspoken question. "Get Spock. Now."

~o~

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~o~

"I wish I had something better to tell you, Spock." The crew on the bridge could see the barely-repressed anguish on the admiral's face. "I wish… _damn_. I just wish I could be there with you all, too. That there was something I could do for you instead of just sitting here spouting Starfleet regulation bullshit."

"Admiral Pike." Spock's tone, oddly, sounded almost reassuring. "Believe me when I tell you that all of us aboard the _Enterprise_ know that we have no more stalwart supporter than yourself, and that if there were anything that could be done on Starfleet's part to alleviate our current … dilemma, you would be making sure it was being accomplished."

Pike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. "Thank you, Spock. Appreciate that. And I'm sorry you couldn't reach me when this first happened – not that I could have come up with any brilliant solution then, either, but at least you wouldn't have had to deal with that idiot Komack."

He shook his head disgustedly. "How Jim managed not to absolutely blow his stack with that asshole is beyond me – I don't think I'd have been able to avoid it if I had to talk to him. Not that I'd know – Komack's made himself scarce on some sort of 'classified mission' ever since right after he talked to you all. Pretty sure the little bastard knows that if he shows his face around the Admiralty after the way he threw you all under the bus, he's going to end up with somebody's boot up his ass."

McCoy found himself fighting back a smile – something he hadn't needed to do in damn near a week. Hearing Pike go off on Komack was kind of cathartic, and was a badly-needed shot of normality in a situation in which pretty much nothing was normal.

"But speaking of Jim," Pike continued, sounding a bit calmer, "have you heard from him? Have they let you keep in touch with him?"

At that, all the eyes on the bridge turned to Spock, awaiting his reply.

"Jim's captors have not, in fact, allowed us to communicate with him."

Spock paused, seeming to consider his words briefly before proceeding. "However, Jim and I had formed a rudimentary telepathic bond shortly before he went aboard the _Albiorix_, and as a result, I have been able to maintain what might be considered a sort of contact with him."

Spock was vaguely taken aback by Pike's lack of surprise at that last revelation; he only seemed eager for an answer. "And? What are you getting from Jim, Spock?"

"At first, Admiral, I was able to receive many impressions of Jim's surroundings aboard the alien craft – enough to know that although some of the beings aboard the _Albiorix_ are shapeshifters like the one currently in our custody, there are other species as well. The ship is also manned by a number of Cardassians, at least one Klingon, a human who had previously been a crew member aboard the _Enterprise_, and a few other species that were previously unknown to Jim. His observation of the crew's interactions led him to believe that this is a rogue group of petty pirates and thieves, bent only on enriching themselves via kidnapping and extortion."

"You said 'at first,' Spock – what's happened?"

"I believe, Admiral, that perhaps Jim may have seemed – for lack of a better word, sir, too _observant_ for the comfort of his captors. For the past 53 hours, my mental contact with Jim has led me to believe that he is being sedated. He does not seem ill or in any kind of discomfort, but is obviously being kept in a state of very limited consciousness."

Pike shook his head again. "I guess that can't come as a huge surprise; if they've got someone from the _Enterprise_ on their crew – is it that douchebag LaFontaine?" At Spock's nod, he continued. "Anyway, anyone who's worked with Kirk is going to know that he's not going to stop thinking of a way to get the _Enterprise_ the hell out of this mess just because he's been captured; they were going to have to find another way to neutralize him somehow. Guess we're lucky they haven't done anything worse to him."

"Yet." McCoy's first interjection into the conversation was quiet and grim.

"I know, Leonard." Pike sounded sympathetic. "I know. And I'll do my best to keep stringing these bastards on – but I don't know how much longer they're going to buy my 'rogue admiral fighting Starfleet regulations' song and dance. At some point, they're going to figure out that my communications with them are entirely unauthorized by Starfleet – and if they'd hoped to hold Jim and the _Enterprise_ hostage to bargain for their damnable mining rights on Coridan, they've done it all for nothing. Even if we did negotiate with terrorists or criminals – which we don't and never will – the rights aren't the Federation's to grant. Jim had it right – these thugs don't have any idea what they're doing."

"So, you're basically telling us that Starfleet's flagship was disabled and hijacked into enemy space by a bunch of damned idiots?" The doctor sounded apoplectic. "Because if it's possible, that makes it even _worse_."

"On the contrary, Doctor – that makes it better." Spock sounded even calmer in contrast to McCoy's agitation. "If this had been an official act of aggression by the Cardassians, we would be in a great deal more danger than if it were a random act of piracy by, as you put it, 'a bunch of damned idiots.' Given the relatively remote nature of our location, it is entirely likely that the Cardassian officials are not even aware of our presence here, and that the aliens aboard the_ Albiorix_ are as anxious to avoid their notice as we ourselves are. If that is indeed the case, we might be able to escape this region without having been noticed by enemy forces."

"Once we've got Jim back." McCoy watched Spock carefully, as though waiting for Spock to argue that point.

Spock returned the doctor's regard coolly. "Of course. Under no circumstances will we leave without the captain."

Pike cleared his throat quietly – as if to remind the two men that he was still part of the conversation – and indeed, they both looked somewhat guiltily back at the view screen as though they had forgotten that the admiral was there.

"Spock." Pike paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out on a sigh. "I know you all are determined to get Jim away from his captors – I know you are. But you're also going to have to consider…"

"No, Admiral. There is _nothing_ further I need to consider in this matter."

Pavel knew that the sound of his sharply indrawn breath at Spock's quick response had been loud enough to hear across the entire bridge – and that he hadn't been the only one to gasp in surprise at Spock having blatantly defied the admiral. The crew was used to hearing Kirk speak that way to various members of Starfleet High Command – but never, _never _Spock.

Had some of Jim's command style rubbed off on his First Officer? Perversely, Pavel found himself hoping that it might have – because they could use some of Kirk's sheer ballsiness right about now.

Pike, not surprisingly, did not seem to agree with Pavel. "Spock, dammit – I don't want to get into this with you. But you know I could order you to give it up and concentrate on getting the ship back into Federation space without Jim – I'm not going to, not now, but at some point I might have to. If the Admiralty was in on this right now, those would be their orders, and you know it."

Nyota marveled at Spock's self-control at that moment; he sounded more like a computer than a furiously angry half-Human as he glared at the view screen. "I am, Admiral, currently operating under official Starfleet orders as provided by Admiral Komack. He specifically directed us to use our, and I quote him here, 'best judgment.' I am doing so at this time, and will continue to follow those specific Starfleet orders."

He glanced briefly over to his Communications officer, gesturing to the control panel with the tiniest tilt of his head. "Thank you for your time, Admiral Pike. _Enterprise_ out."

The screen went dark then, and the silence on the bridge was broken by spontaneous applause as the crew realized that their acting captain had, more or less, told Starfleet that if they thought the _Enterprise_ was leaving Jim Kirk behind, they had another think coming.

The stony expression on Spock's face, however, restored the silence.

"I fail to see any cause for celebration at this juncture," he said in a reproving tone. "Although Admiral Pike obviously does not understand our current situation, he is correct in stating that we must keep the safety of the _Enterprise_ and the crew foremost in our minds as we try to free ourselves and the captain from the_ Albiorix_. Captain Kirk would never forgive us if we endangered his ship or his crew on his behalf."

McCoy nodded his agreement. "Jim would be the first one to say we should leave him the hell behind and get the ship to safety. He'd tell us he could look after himself, and it 'd be our job to take care of the _Enterprise_ for him."

Hikaru watched as the doctor and Spock exchanged a long, silent look across the bridge; it was clear that some unspoken communication was happening between the two of them, and while Hikaru found it baffling, it was clear that the two men understood one another perfectly.

As if they'd actually been speaking, McCoy nodded to Spock before turning to leave the bridge. "All right then – I'll leave you to it. I'm going back down to see if any of the lab work we've done on that damn shapeshifter has given us any information we can use against them – not that it's likely. But, Spock –" his expression changed suddenly as a look of pain flashed quickly across his face – "come down when you can. Tell me more about Jim, all right?"

"Certainly, Doctor." Spock nodded in return as the doctor disappeared through the door to the turbolift.

Slowly, the crew resumed normal activities – or what would pass for "normal" in these most abnormal of times – and Spock moved to stand behind the captain's chair. Sulu couldn't help but notice yet again that he avoided sitting there whenever possible.

_I get it. It's Jim's chair. Just like I'm sitting in Spock's chair – like Ghanem is sitting in my chair._

Five days.

And who knew how much longer this waiting game would go on – or how much longer it _could_ go on.

~o~

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~o~

_More to come – hopefully VERY soon – but I figured I'd end this chapter here because it seemed to want to finish up, and because I figured I might want to go ahead and publish now so that y'all would know that I hadn't forgotten this story entirely. (So, you'll drop me a review and let me know you're still reading - right?)  
_

_Speaking of stories – big hugs to all of you for how kindly you've received the ridiculous "Christmas" story I was writing when I should have been working on this. I've got the best readers anywhere. Just sayin. Love you all!_


	26. Sacrificio e Redenzione

_Short chapter, I know. Hoping I'll be able to pull off another update before long. _

_Meanwhile, you know I love to hear from you, yes? It makes me write faster...!_

~o0o~_  
_

* * *

**Redemption can be found in hell itself if that's where you happen to be.**  
Lin Jensen

* * *

~o0o~

"No, Spock, I _don't_ understand what you mean." McCoy was pretty sure that he was doing a lousy job of disguising the undercurrent of panic in his voice, and hoped Spock wasn't as good at picking up on that as Jim had always been. "You say you're having 'greater difficulty' in reaching Jim; is he sick, do you think? Have they hurt him?"

Spock closed his eyes briefly, drawing a deep breath and letting it out on an uncharacteristic sigh. "Understand, please, Doctor, that I am not what could be described as an expert concerning Vulcan bonds of this nature myself; my only other immediate experience has been with a young Vulcan female to whom I was bonded at the age of seven, and whom I then proceeded to ignore - as she did for me. When T'Pring perished with my home planet, that bond was severed, which caused me no small discomfort - but again, the bond I shared with her was nothing like the connection which has formed between my mind and Jim's."

He looked more directly at McCoy now, and the doctor didn't need any kind of telepathy to see the exhaustion and worry behind Spock's eyes. "I cannot adequately explain the difference that has come about in the past 24 hours in the nature of our mental contact - I can only tell you that there _is_ a difference, that the contact is… diminished. This may or may not be because of a deterioration of Jim's physical condition; I do not have any evidence to support or to negate that theory."

McCoy had to fight back the urge to shout at Spock - this was _Jim_, dammit, not some kind of a disembodied _theory_ that might or might not be fucking _negated_ - but with a deep breath of his own, he held onto at least a veneer of calm. After all, he knew that Jim's absence was weighing every bit as heavily on Spock as it was on himself.

_More, really_, he was forced to acknowledge. Jim was his best friend, but he was Spock's as well - and more than that, he was the man Spock loved, his _bondmate_, on top of the rest of it. And if that wasn't bad enough, now Spock had to do Jim's job, and to try to come up with a way to get Jim out of the clutches of these alien thugs while avoiding getting Jim's ship and crew blown up in enemy space in the meanwhile.

He wasn't going to yell at Spock - not just now, at least.

"Yeah, well." McCoy reached up and squeezed the bridge of his nose, hard. "Even if you're not really sure what's goin' on, I appreciate you lettin' me know."

A little over two weeks previously, the two of them had reached an agreement that Spock would be sure to tell Leonard about anything regarding his mental contact with Jim - regardless of how trivial it might seem. After his less-than-productive discussion with Admiral Pike eighteen days ago, Spock had followed McCoy back down to Sickbay and proceeded to provide him with every impression, every detail that he had been able to pick up from Jim since the captain had been taken hostage.

Or, more accurately, _almost_ every detail. Neither Spock nor Leonard was comfortable with some of the more… personal exchanges between Spock and Jim. Spock did not wish to mention them, and McCoy did not wish to hear them, so those particular details were left alone by unspoken mutual agreement.

"I regret that what I have to report is necessarily so vague, Doctor. It is just… I find that I am singularly without words to describe what is occurring, even though much of it is taking place in my own mind."

"Don't worry about it, Spock. Or at least, don't worry about what you have to tell me. I understand." McCoy scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand in a gesture that reminded Spock painfully of what Jim would do in an unguarded moment when he was under great stress.

He realized belatedly that the doctor had to be tired; they had unintentionally continued their conversation well past a reasonable hour for the human to go to sleep. It just happened these days that the only time they really had to talk to one another privately was after their shifts had ended - and in this case, it was now 01:17, and McCoy was beginning to exhibit visible signs of strain.

'I mean…" the doctor trailed off briefly. "Shit, I don't _begin_ to understand what's goin' on between the two of you - but I mean, I understand that you can't necessarily explain it, either."

He sighed gustily, attempting a smile before seeming to quickly realize that he was failing spectacularly. _Fuck it_, he thought. _Not like Spock gives a shit whether I smile or not._ "Guess this is where it comes in handy that we've figured out how to trust each other over the past couple years."

Spock nodded distractedly - more in acknowledgment that the discussion had reached its end than anything else. "Indeed."

McCoy made another, slightly more successful attempt at a wry smile. "Imagine the look on Jim's face when we tell him it's been upwards of three weeks and we haven't jumped down each other's throats once. Must be some kind of a damn record."

At that point, Spock had no idea how to respond, or whether a response was even expected - but he was saved from considering it further when the sudden sound of security klaxons made both men leap up from their chairs.

"Security breach, nature currently unknown." Spock recognized Lieutenant Commander Giotto's voice over the ship-wide intercom. "Report to stations. Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, please come to Engineering."

"Giotto? Report." Spock was on his own communicator with the Security chief, even as he half-ran down to Engineering with McCoy in his wake.

"Don't know what we've got here, sir - but the four engineers on Gamma Shift and the three Security officers with them are all unconscious due to unknown causes, and we've had an airlock opened and closed again. Still working on it, sir - just got the alarm a moment before I made the all-ship announcement."

"Unconscious?" McCoy cut in, slightly out of breath. "Signs of a struggle? Have you checked for any toxins or pathogens that might have been used?"

"Affirmative, Doctor - no foreign substances, at least. As far as a struggle - a couple of our people had drawn and fired phasers, but we don't know at who, or why. We're going to have to see what they say once somebody regains consciousness."

At that point, Spock and McCoy had arrived on the scene, which was much as Giotto had described. A knot of Security and Engineering personnel were lying on the floor of Engineering, and were being attended to by another group of Security crew members until Medical could get there.

"As you see, sir, Keenser and Shea are here closer to the airlock - they were the ones who drew phasers to fire at…" Giotto paused, frustrated. "At whatever it was."

"None of your people reported a disturbance prior to phasers being fired, Mr. Giotto?"

"No, sir. No idea why not - that's not procedure at all - but right now, I've got a lot more questions than answers."

McCoy looked up from where he'd been scanning some of the fallen crew members, his mouth set in a grim twist. "Here's an answer for you - not that you're gonna like it. Our crew members? They've been stunned by phaser fire - and if I had my guess, this is an inside job."

"Mr. Spock," Sulu's voice came over Spock's communicator. "The breached airlock - sir, we're getting readings that there's something, someone, outside the ship. Out by the nav deflectors, sir."

"Not more sabotage?" McCoy interjected.

"No. Not more sabotage."

Everyone turned then, surprised to hear Scotty's voice, quiet and solemn. He'd evidently come in undetected in the midst of the excitement, and done what he always did - which was to quietly and efficiently see to the welfare of the ship. "It's foolishness - it's just about _suicide_ - but it isna sabotage."

For a long moment, Scott's remark went unanswered - then Giotto, visibly paler than he'd been just a few seconds previously, swore ferociously under his breath before pushing a button on a nearby console.

"Computer," he growled into the speaker, "locate Ensign Vinci." Spock's eyes met Giotto's in a flash of sudden understanding as the disembodied voice reported,

"Ensign Enrico Vinci is currently performing EVA, navigational deflectors."

"EVA?" McCoy turned to Scotty, flabbergasted. "You mean to tell me…"

"Yeah, Doc - extravehicular activity. The crazy bastard's doin' a spacewalk to fix the deflectors, so we can get the shields back up."

The Chief Engineer shook his head. "I couldnae figure why he'd had himself reassigned down here - and why he always had so damn many questions about…" Scott ran a hand through his short blond hair until it stood on end. "Makes sense, now. Crazy bastard."

"Ensign Vinci, report immediately." Spock's voice over the comm was coldly furious. "Explain yourself."

"Sorry, sir. " Vinci's reply sounded somewhat mechanical with the slight overlay of static. "Pretty sure you know why I'm out here - and just now, I'm at a pretty critical stage, so if you don't mind, I'll explain when I'm finished and I come back in." There was a short pause. "If… yeah. When I come back in. And sir, yes, I know I'll be up for a court martial for all kinds of different offenses - you don't have to explain that one to me."

"Vinci? What the fuck is he doing out there?" McCoy half-whispered to Giotto as he supervised the removal of the various crewmembers to Sickbay; if it was a simple matter of having been stunned by phaser fire, they'd all be fine before long, and the CMO was more than willing to leave their care to his subordinates.

"Aside from the obvious?" The Security chief snapped, then seemed to recall himself. "Sorry, Doctor."

McCoy nodded his acknowledgment of the apology. Giotto wasn't usually quite that pissy, Leonard reflected - but supposed he'd be that way, too, if one of his people had done something as fucking _insane_ as going outside the ship to do goddamn repair work on a ship that might still have booby traps God only knew where - in the middle of Cardassian space, no less. It was enough to make a man a little snappish.

"It's like this, sir," Giotto went on quietly. "Vinci's never gotten over that run-in they had with the shapeshifter when she first tried to get the Captain on Starbase 84 - he thinks that if he'd been doing his job, paying better attention when she was glommed onto Kirk at that club, they'd have been able to apprehend Treya before she had a chance to get hold of Cirkin and get aboard the _Enterprise_."

He shook his head grimly. "Thing is, he's probably not wrong - but hell. There were extenuating circumstances - I mean, they weren't actually on duty - and Kirk told him himself that everyone accidentally fucks it up some time or another. Just this time, the consequences of his actions - at least, the way he sees it - were pretty horrific."

"So he's thinking he's going to make amends by risking his fool neck out there?"

"That's my guess, sir, yes."

"And you think he was able to hit the whole crew down here with phaser fire in order to get out there?"

"No, sir, I don't." Giotto gestured expansively at the scene around them. "From the looks of things when we got here, I'm thinking Keenser and Shea did that for him - probably took everybody else by surprise - and if I've got my guess, they were also both thinking they'd be joining Vinci in the EVA as well. After all, takes more than one set of hands on the controls to open up some of these portals to get out there to begin with - and, well, those two both had their reasons for wanting to help Vinci. Shea? He'd do anything Vinci asked him to do; always has. It's like hero worship… or something. And Keenser? If Vinci put it to him as a way to avenge Cirkin's death, he'd have been on it in a heartbeat."

"Poor Keenser." McCoy still felt badly for having shut him down when he'd said that Cirkin wasn't acting right. Of course, it was too late by then to have helped Cirkin - or anybody else - but still. Keenser had been right, and he'd lost a good friend. Either way, if Giotto's guess was accurate, then it looked as though Keenser and Shea had thought they were in on this crazy-ass spacewalk plan of Vinci's right up until the moment when he'd turned his phaser on them, too.

"Rick, I get it." Giotto was speaking into his communicator now, his voice harsh and urgent. "But you've got to get back in here. What you're doing? I mean, shit, Rico - _capisco__, __Rico__, __ma __non __vale la pena__ tua__ vita_."

"Not worth my life?" Vinci's voice sounded strained as well. "_Con rispetto_, sir, I'd say it probably is."

There was a moment's silence before he went on. "But one way or the other, Mr. Giotto, Mr. Spock - I'm not coming back in until the job's done. You know as well as I do that I know enough about the damn deflectors to fix them; it's just about impossible to get it done from inside the ship, but from out here, it's not even all that hard. Now, if you don't mind, sirs, I need to finish this up. Vinci out."

"Ummm… Mr. Spock?" Giotto had almost slipped and said "Captain," but caught himself; that had been the very first thing Spock had told them all upon assuming command. There was only one captain of the _Enterprise_, he'd explained very clearly, and that was Captain James Kirk.

Either way, he'd be repeating himself, as Spock wasn't listening - he was currently engrossed in a conversation with Mr. Scott, no doubt concerning what Vinci might be doing out there.

"Mr. Spock? How do you want to handle this? I can send some of our people out after him, if you'd like."

"No, Mr. Giotto." Spock's reply was almost curt. "We are not going to endanger more of our crew due to Ensign Vinci's ill-considered actions. He has said himself that he plans to complete repairs and reenter the ship, and it appears that he will indeed be able to do exactly that. Mr. Scott is now assisting him via remote camera and communicator; if all goes well, the repairs can be made within another 4.5 minutes and he can then prepare to come back aboard." He spoke into his own communicator again. "Mr. Sulu, please relieve Gamma Shift command at this time; I will join you on the bridge shortly." Without another word, he turned and was gone.

The next four minutes and change went by more or less uneventfully; the business of taking the ship off of its "security breach" status while dealing with injured crew members and bringing in more engineers to replace them was done quickly and without a great deal of fuss. Meanwhile, Scott was quietly guiding Vinci through the repair process - though it quickly became clear to all of them that Vinci had done his homework, as it were, and knew what he was doing.

"It's going well, then?" McCoy wasn't an engineer, and neither was Giotto - but the Security chief seemed to have a pretty good idea what was going on, and wasn't so busy at the moment that he couldn't be questioned.

"Yeah." To the doctor's surprise, Giotto's thick, dark eyebrows drew together worriedly. "Almost too well. With all the other stuff that's gone down on board in the past couple weeks, this shouldn't be going so smoothly."

McCoy looked at Giotto with an expression that bespoke his confusion. "You have something solid to back that up, or is it just your gut talking there? Because I'd say we've had enough stuff go wrong recently that we're in for at least a _little_ good luck."

Giotto, who was half-listening to the doctor while also attending to the exchange between Scott and Vinci, held up a hand to silence McCoy.

"Wait, there, Vinci - take the camera, will you, and focus about thirty degrees to your left… there. That rivet. Zoom in on it, will you?"

Scott had an odd tone to his voice; even if he himself had no clue what was going on, McCoy could see that every engineer in the room had frozen in place at that tone and were staring at the usually animated Scotsman who was now completely still as he peered into the closed-circuit monitor.

_This can't be good_, the CMO reflected.

"I see what you mean, sir," Vinci said. "But even if the anomaly… even if it's… intentional, it's not placed on the deflector itself; it ought to be far enough away that the damage can be localized. Sort of a surgical strike."

"But, lad - ye canna… If it goes, ye'll not be able to come back through the lock. We can open up the portals on the deck above you, but it's gonna be a huge risk tryin' to get that distance with no more of a tether than ye've got."

"I know that, sir." Vinci laughed, a hollow, humorless sound over the communicator. "But hey, I'm Security - we're all about the risk, right?"

Giotto cut in furiously. "Dammit, Vinci, do what you've got to do and get the hell back in here. _Now_."

"It's not that simple anymore, Mr. Giotto," Scott cut in quietly. "That rivet we're lookin' at? That 'anomaly' Vinci's talkin' about - if I have my guess, it's another of that bitch's explosives. She spent enough time down here to know that any of the airlocks would be a good target - just in case anyone did try an EVA to fix the deflectors."

"So why hasn't it gone off yet, if it's a booby trap?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Giotto. I'm thinkin' that it'll be triggered when we try to open back up again - but that's just me."

"Then how the hell are we going to get him back in here?" Giotto had gone from a near-shout to a whisper.

"That's what we're tryin' to figure out now, lad."

"Giotto?" Vinci spoke again over the intercom.

"Yeah, Vinci?"

_ "Giotto, dillo a Kirk - dirgli che… che mi dispiace, vero?"_

McCoy didn't know what Vinci had said - didn't know what Giotto was saying in response - but the Security chief's voice was rough with barely-suppressed emotion. "_Digli che te stesso, Rico."_

There was a brief pause as Vinci took a deep breath before replying. "Yes, sir. Will -"

The explosion wasn't a big one, McCoy reflected, feeling oddly detached from the situation as it unfolded. It almost sounded muffled - and nothing shook, no lights flashed like they had when everything had gone to hell a few weeks ago. Really, just a little bit of a noise; if he hadn't been in Engineering, he wouldn't have heard it at all.

Just a little noise - and so much silence that followed it. He didn't have to ask anyone to know that Vinci was dead; he could see it on their faces.

"He took the brunt of the blast himself, Mike," Scotty said, laying a gentle hand on Giotto's shoulder. "Covered it with his own body before it could blow." He shook his head in mingled admiration and sadness. "There wasna any way of knowin' whether the explosion would send out shrapnel and mess up the deflectors again - I didna tell him that, but seems he knew it all the same. Could've been that he'd have gone out there for nothin' if they'd been damaged a second time."

"He knew he was going to do it, too. I don't think he had any intention of coming back in here." Giotto sighed. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to go report to Mr. Spock now."

"That you do," Scott said sympathetically. "Tell him for me, though - Vinci didn't do it in vain. _Enterprise_ is back to full shields again."

~o0o~

* * *

_**Mike Giotto & Rick Vinci - both good Italian boys. Here is the translation of what they said to one another:**_

_"__Capisco__, __Rico__, __ma__ non__ vale la pena __tua__ vita_." - "I understand, Rico, but it's not worth your life."

_"Con rispetto"_ - "With respect"

_"Giotto, dillo a Kirk - dirgli che… che mi dispiace, vero?" - _"Giotto, tell Kirk - tell him that… that I'm sorry, will you?"

_"Digli che te stesso, Rico." - _"Tell him yourself, Rico."

And you probably don't need me to tell you this, but "Sacrificio e Redenzione" is "Sacrifice and Redemption."

* * *

_**A/N: Feel free to ignore!**_

_**Wow – **you all are fantastic, you know? Thanks for all the kind words about the last chapter – it was great to know that you all were still around after (gasp) SIX MONTHS! If I was unable to personally respond to your review (if you're anonymous or don't have PM enabled), please know I loved hearing from you.  
_

_To Marguitar in particular – yet again… **wow**. Thanks are probably insufficient for all of your lovely feedback – I kind of adore you for taking the time to share all your thoughts. You really, really blew me out of the water, and I just can't find the words to thank you enough for all the truly wonderful things you had to say._

_A quick aside: funny thing about "another think coming" – the use of those particular words was very much a conscious decision on my part, in that I'm aware of the "thing/think" controversy and am firmly on the "think" side of that argument. Here's a site (which, of course, you'll have to access without the spaces – because this website HATES links) that explains my POV more fully: _

_ht tp:/ languageandgrammar. com /2008/09/11/ if-you-think-this-is-correct-then/_


	27. Showdown

_**Time for the disclaimer again: **Very little of this actually belongs to me - if you recognize it, it wasn't mine to begin with. I don't own the characters or the story; just taking them out to play._

_A great deal of this chapter's action in particular comes from an episode of **Star Trek: The Original Series**; cyber-brownies to those of you who know which episode that would be!_

* * *

_**As our enemies have found we can reason like men, so now let us show them we can fight like men also.  
**Thomas Jefferson_

* * *

~o0o~

On the best of days, Chekov reflected, the atmosphere on the bridge of the Enterprise could only be described as tense since Captain Kirk had been taken hostage. Now, in the four days since Ensign Vinci's death - and the subsequent return of the _Enterprise's_ shields - things had become almost intolerable. Spock was even more distant than usual; he was still very obviously in command, but he seemed somehow to have retreated almost entirely into himself.

In private, Hikaru had hypothesized that it might have something to do with a change in Spock's ability to contact Jim through their telepathic bond; he had to be sick with worry, and couldn't very well express that either as a self-respecting Vulcan or as a Starfleet acting captain. Pavel also suspected that Spock was likely feeling guilt over Vinci's choice to sacrifice his own life for the good of the ship and its crew; Jim, after all, had left all of them in Spock's care, and now one of the crew was dead. It was, Pavel admitted to himself, certainly not a _logical_ way to feel - Spock had not had any prior knowledge of or control over Vinci's planned course of action - but the _Enterprise's_ navigator had come to know his acting captain better than most people did, and understood him in ways that others never would.

It was not, after all, as though either of them was a stranger to illogical guilt, and they both knew it.

Spock looked up just then, his eyes meeting Chekov's by accident across the bridge, lingering just slightly longer than would be expected with a slightly inquisitive expression; not for the first time, the young navigator found himself wondering if the commander could somehow read his thoughts.

Just then, his full attention was recalled to his console; for the first time in over 50.75 hours, the _Albiorix _had moved.

"Mr. Spock, the alien ship has changed course and speed. Moving directly toward us at warp eight."

Spock nodded briefly in acknowledgement before turning to Uhura. "Lieutenant, hail the _Albiorix_."

"Yes, sir." She went about her business even more rapidly than usual, before turning to Spock with a look of frustration on her face. "They won't respond, sir. Won't even open the usual channel."

"Very well." Spock sounded surprisingly calm. "I can only assume that Gandhar and his cohorts have finally come to the realization that negotiating with Starfleet will not serve their purposes, and have determined instead that engaging us in some sort of altercation will better suit their needs. Lieutenant, there have been no communications of any kind with the alien vessel since we regained our shields?"

Uhura knew what he meant. "No, sir. Not from the _Enterprise_ - and no signals transmitted or received by the Albiorix in that period of time, either." Once she'd realized that Treya had been sending covert signals to her own ship, Uhura had closely monitored even the most unconventional of communications channels. "They have no way of knowing we've got our shields back, sir."

"As I had hoped." Spock turned away from the Communications console, speaking briefly into his own communicator before returning his attention to Pavel. "Bring the prisoner Treya to the bridge. Deflectors on. Red Alert. Mr. Chekov, phasers stand by to fire on my order."

"Aye, sir. Shields on full. Phasers manned and ready, sir."

Sulu moved to stand at Spock's side. "I don't get it, sir. If they don't know we've got our shields again, then why not just blow us up, if that's what they're trying to accomplish?"

"We are not dealing with inferior minds, Mr. Sulu." Spock watched the _Albiorix_ seeming to grow larger in the viewscreen as it approached. "They cannot know that we have regained use of our shields, but they have to suspect that we would have been attempting to do so ever since we got here. They are, no doubt, giving us credit for having possibly achieved some success in that area, just to be on the safe side."

Hikaru looked at Spock with dawning comprehension. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have, Mr. Sulu. I am only surprised it has taken them so long."

"Sir," Sulu continued in a near-whisper, for Spock's ears only, "does this have anything to do with your orders concerning Deck M and the staffing in Engineering?"

"It does," Spock replied with an expression that Hikaru recognized as surprise. "I apologize for not having made you more fully aware of the nature of my plans. It did not occur to me that the changes I made would arouse your attention."

Sulu knew better than to be offended; Spock wasn't purposely insulting his intelligence, after all. He simply wasn't focusing on anything - _anything_ - that didn't involve the safety of Jim or the _Enterprise_. "No apology necessary, sir. You can explain more thoroughly later if you think I need to know about it."

Spock had ordered a sudden halt to repairs on the damaged portion of Deck M in Engineering, and had Scotty remove all of his personnel from that area, sealing it off completely "until further notice" - which had _more_ than aroused Hikaru's attention, and the Chief Engineer's as well. However, considering their commanding officer's current uncommunicative state of mind, he and Scott had both decided not to question him about his orders; they were more than a little odd, but didn't have an effect on the day-to-day operation of the _Enterprise._

If he were going to be Spock's first officer for any length of time, Sulu would have acted differently, he was sure - he'd have asked questions, and respectfully demanded answers - but he hoped as fervently as anyone that this particular stint would be temporary, and very brief.

Spock inclined his head slightly in reply, turning again to the helm.

"Target, Mr. Chekov."

"Moving away. Turning now. He's coming around again."

"Fire as he passes."

"_Fire_, sir?" Pavel froze; if they hit the enemy ship, the captain could be injured, or worse - surely Spock realized that.

"You heard me, Mr. Chekov."

"Yes, sir." The _Albiorix_ zoomed past, firing as it went; Pavel aimed and fired as quickly as possible, but despite even his preternaturally quick reflexes, he was unable to make contact.

"A clean miss on both sides, sir."

Spock did not seem concerned by this news. "Report on his weaponry, Mr. Chekov."

Chekov scanned his console. "Sensors record standard phasers, sir."

"Standard phasers," Spock repeated. "Good. They may have more speed, but they are not invincible. Mr. Chekov, you will focus our phasers on the _Albiorix's _weapons systems only; we will attempt to disable the vessel, not to destroy it."

Pavel nodded; he'd certainly give that his best effort, though how the hell Spock thought he was going to focus on any specific part of that ship as long as it was moving so frustratingly quickly was not something he was going to ask. "He's coming around again, sir."

This time, the _Enterprise_ rocked as it was hit with phaser fire from the passing ship.

"Number four shield has buckled," Sulu reported tersely.

Spock's tone did not alter. "Auxiliary power, Mr. Sulu."

"Switching over." Hikaru's hands flew over the instruments. "Shields firming up. Number four is still weak, sir. If they hit us there again, it'll go altogether."

At that point, Giotto appeared with Treya in tow, followed closely by McCoy, Scott and Keenser; Spock could only assume that the engineers were on the bridge for their own purposes - and that the doctor had simply come up because he always seemed to do so whenever things, as he liked to put it, "got exciting."

The prisoner looked none too pleased to have her hands cuffed behind her, and Spock wondered if Giotto really thought that restraining her in such a fashion would make a difference, considering Treya's rather disconcerting ability to change her state of matter at a moment's notice. In all likelihood, he had cuffed her just to make a point - and, Spock was certain, if it annoyed Treya, that was all the better in Giotto's estimation. The Security chief had taken the recent loss of one of his own harder than usual, and it was clear that he held Treya responsible for Vinci's death.

The Chief Engineer had appeared at Spock's elbow, his voice low and urgent. "Mr. Spock," he whispered, "I wasna going to say this over the communicator - but Keenser was runnin' a diagnostic a bit ago, and he found evidence that there's -"

"A significant new cache of explosives in the sealed portion of Deck M," Spock replied equally quietly, to Scott's astonishment. "I am aware of this, having placed them there myself 32.4 hours ago."

Scotty's jaw dropped, and he inadvertently raised his voice the tiniest amount. "With all respect, sir - what the _hell_ are ye thinkin'?"

Spock paused, looking into Scott's intent face - and seeing his own first officer standing nearby with a similar question in his eyes.

Unconsciously echoing a movement of Jim's, he reached absently up with one hand and scrubbed up and down his face. Sharing his every thought with Jim had never been a problem - long before they had even considered a romantic involvement, much less bonding, they had discovered that their thoughts had run along the same lines. They had been able to finish one another's sentences - and Jim would immediately have understood what Spock had done in Engineering, and why. Having to explain himself in a situation such as this was new to Spock, and he was dismayed to discover, to use Jim's phrase, that he sucked at it.

That, he realized was the key. He would need to use Jim's phrase.

"Mr. Scott, Mr. Sulu," he said quietly, moving with them to a relatively deserted part of the bridge, "I have no doubt that you are both deeply confused by my current course of action." He paused briefly, and they nodded simultaneously, with almost identical expressions of profound discomfort. "You will, I hope, forgive what has obviously been a regrettable lack of communication on my part."

He went on before either man had a chance to respond. "This situation in which we find ourselves is as close to what the captain would refer to as a 'no-win' as any we have experienced in my time on the _Enterprise_; I will not bore you with my own statistical analysis of our chances of escaping unscathed with the captain returned safely to us, but as you might imagine, those chances could be considered by some to be… discouraging."

Uhura's voice interrupted him. "Damage reports coming in, Mr. Spock. Every deck."

Spock replied without even looking in her direction. "Damage control procedures, all decks."

"Mr. Spock," Pavel cut in now, "number two shield is gone."

"Thank you, Mr. Chekov," Spock replied evenly.

"As I considered our situation," he went on explaining to Scott and Sulu in more or less his normal tone as though they had not been interrupted, "I realized that I needed to stop thinking like myself, and to try to think instead like the captain. Instead of logic, I determined that it was time to do something…"

"Batshit _insane_ - like the Keptin at chess!" Pavel burst out from across the bridge before clapping a hand over his mouth as if to stuff back the words that had just escaped.

Instead of glaring disapprovingly at the outburst, Spock simply nodded his agreement. "Exactly, Pavel. I realized that using one of the captain's strategies - or as close of an approximation as I could create myself - would indeed be our best hope." He gestured out the viewscreen. "That ship out there has phasers. At least our weapons are alike; we have some hope of evening our odds in this battle."

"You're not going to fool them," Treya snarled. "They're smarter than you think they are."

"Indeed?" Spock spoke as coolly as if the two were discussing the weather, or their preferences in herbal teas. "I believe that, in fact, they are likely _exactly_ as smart as I think they are. And you are here with us because I want you where I can see you - and where you, in turn, can see what becomes of your erstwhile colleagues."

"Alien craft is approaching again, sir."

"Noted, Mr. Chekov. All shields to one hundred percent - except for Deck M in the Engineering section."

"Yes, sir." Pavel replied crisply. "All shields fully activated with that exception, sir."

"What are you trying to prove, Vulcan?" Treya's voice held an odd combination of scorn and panic. "You're not going to get him back - you know that, don't you?"

"Goading me is not wise at any time, and especially not at this juncture," Spock replied tersely before proceeding to ignore her completely.

"Spock to Engineering. At my signal, detonate the control panel in Engineering Deck M, and then cut starboard power. After that, cut power on port side except for phaser banks."

A long silence ensued; Sulu and Scott looked to one another with sudden understanding.

"Engineering, initiate detonation in Deck M Engineering, then cut power on starboard side. Maintain until further orders."

There was the sound of a distant, muffled explosion before the ship went dark.

"What are you doing?" Now Treya had lost her scornful tone entirely; she only sounded panicked.

"I do not feel the need to communicate my plans with you," Spock replied. "You may observe as they unfold."

"We're starting to drift, sir," Chekov reported. "Shall I hold her on course?"

"No," Spock replied briefly. "Stand by your phasers, Mr. Chekov."

"Aye, sir. Phasers standing by. He's just hovering out there, sir."

"Well, I'll be damned," McCoy interjected unexpectedly, with amazement in his voice. "He's just looking us over. You just blew up a goddamn _empty room_, and cut off all the power, you crazy bastard. We're _dead_ as far as he knows - he thinks he got us."

"You're baiting him," cried Treya. "You're trying to lure him in - you can't _do_ that!"

With that, she broke away from Giotto and ran toward the Communications console. At once, Giotto made a move as if to tackle her, and McCoy rushed to stand between her and Nyota - but neither man was able to stop the shapeshifter before a blast of phaser fire immobilized her, turning her almost instantly into a puddle of shimmering protoplasm on the deck at their feet that quivered briefly before becoming entirely still.

Stunned, everyone turned to the source of the phaser fire - just in time to see Keenser slowly returning his weapon to its holster on his belt.

"Nicely done, Ensign." Giotto nodded approvingly as Scott clapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Did it feel good, lad?" Scotty wondered how long Keenser had been hoping to do exactly that.

"No," he replied, almost inaudibly. "Not good. Felt right, though."

Their attention was diverted then by Chekov's quietly excited voice. "Here he comes. Range decreasing. Speed dropping close to sublight."

"Hold your fire, Mr. Chekov," Spock ordered calmly. "And be certain that you are aiming only at the weapons array."

"Aye, sir. Phasers locked on target. Range closing. Seventy five thousand kilometers."

Spock waited silently for one second, then two. "Fire."

A small flare filled the viewscreen almost immediately, and Pavel couldn't help whooping with exaltation.

"Got him! Got him right in the phasers, sir!"

"Indeed you did, Mr. Chekov," Spock replied with the barest hint of approval in his tone. "Essentially a surgical strike; your aim was impressively accurate, as usual." He turned to the rest of the crew on the bridge. "Secure from general quarters. Lieutenant Uhura, open the hailing frequency; we will see if they wish to negotiate terms of surrender."

"Yes, sir."

She had barely lifted her hand to touch the controls when a brilliant flare of light from behind her made her stop and spin around in her chair in disbelief. One moment, the _Albiorix _had been squarely in the middle of the viewscreen - and now…

"Oh, my God."

McCoy's voice was raw; they all stood watching helplessly for long moments of sudden stunned silence as the small alien ship self-destructed into a series of explosions before being completely devoured in an immense ball of fire. Though it seemed to have gone on for much longer, mere seconds had passed before only the black void of space was in their view again.

Sulu and McCoy seemed to have had the same thought at once, as they moved quickly to support Spock on either side, holding his arms as he sagged briefly downward. No one on the bridge spoke; it was as though if the silence remained unbroken, the event they had just witnessed might somehow not really have taken place.

Spock straightened suddenly, shaking off McCoy and Sulu's hands almost violently. "No," he whispered. "No."

McCoy tentatively returned a hand to Spock's shoulder. "God, Spock - I know." He swallowed hard before continuing, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Spock wheeled around, seizing Leonard by both shoulders. "Silence! Let me think. Let me…" He trailed off, his eyes closing as he seemed briefly to go somewhere deep inside his own mind.

"No," he said again, opening his eyes again to look at the crew that stood before him in a ghastly combination of shock, devastated sympathy and grief.

Chekov had been staring intently into the nearly expressionless Vulcan face from his station nearby when all at once, something he saw there made him leap up from his chair and go to stand in front of Spock.

"It's still there, isn't it, sir?" His voice was trembling with suppressed hope and excitement. "Your bond with the Keptin?"

Spock looked at Pavel as though he was the first thing he had actually seen since the_ Albiorix_ exploded. Shaking his head slowly as though to clear it, he took a deep breath.

"Yes, Pavel, it is. The bond is still there." Closing his eyes again tightly, Spock covered his face briefly with both hands before addressing the crew once more.

"I do not know how such a thing is possible, but Jim was not on board the alien vessel when it exploded. I do not know when or how he could have been removed, nor where they have taken him, but I do know this with complete certainty: wherever he is, Jim is still alive."

~o0o~

* * *

_Short chapter is short - but sometimes they just are, yeah?_

_I'll take this moment to confess to you all what you likely already know: I am a complete review whore. It's so much easier to sit down and update when I get feedback - so if you feel moved to tell me what you thought of this chapter and/or the piece so far, I'd love it!_


	28. What Happens Now

_First - thanks SO much for the lovely response to the last chapter. Regardless of what some of you might think, getting feedback really does make me write faster.  
__(Please note: fast**er**. Maybe not as fast as you'd like, but faster than I might have otherwise.)_

_And for those of you who were sad about the lack of Hikaru in the last chapter of "Both Ways" - well, here he is. :-)_

* * *

~o0o~

_**Even so my sun one early morn did shine, **__**  
**__**With all triumphant splendour on my brow; **__**  
**__**But out, alack, he was but one hour mine, **__**  
**__**The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. **_

_William Shakespeare, Sonnet 33_

~o0o~

* * *

"The answer's here, Spock - I know it's not definitive, but I just _know_ it's important. If you'll just look at what I've found here, I'll show you what I'm talking about."

"Lt. Uhura, I know you are trying to be of assistance, and I appreciate the effort you have made in order to help learn the captain's whereabouts." Spock's voice was patient, but Nyota could hear the undertone of exhaustion below the surface. "However, I fail to see…"

"Wait, Commander." Sulu had come to Spock's quarters with Nyota after the end of Alpha Shift - nearly two full days after the horrific explosion that had destroyed the _Albiorix_ and led to hours of fruitless speculation as to where Jim could possibly be. "With respect, sir, I think that you need to hear Lt. Uhura out; she and Lt. Chekov have been doing some independent research, and from what they've shown me, I believe they've found some data worth pursuing."

Spock vaguely registered that Sulu had addressed him as "Commander" - not that he had an issue with this, because he had flatly refused to be called "Captain" in Jim's absence.

However, there was a new distance and formality that had not previously been present in his dealings with his acting first officer; it had been there, Spock realized belatedly, since the day their ruse had led to the disabling and ultimately the self-destruction of the _Albiorix_.

It was logical, Spock realized, for his second-in-command to feel frustrated and possibly even upset by Spock's own failure to alert him to the plans he had made to detonate the small area in Deck M if a situation arose that called for such a ruse. He knew that he would have felt similarly had Jim taken such a course of action without having told him about it.

Of course, it was true that he and Sulu did not have the same almost telepathic coordination of thought that he and Jim had shared long before they had formed anything like an actual bond - but, in fairness, he and Jim had had to develop that working relationship over the course of many months and with a great deal of conscious effort. Jim had gone out of his way nearly from the beginning to include Spock in command decisions, explaining why he took certain actions and listening to Spock's arguments when they disagreed. Sometimes, Spock had been able to change Jim's mind, and other times, Jim had changed Spock's. Not infrequently, Spock had simply had to go along with Jim's decision even if he continued to disagree with it; it was simply the way any command team worked, and they were no exception.

Spock felt a wave of something like guilt as it occurred to him that he clearly had not given Sulu a chance to perform in the way that Jim had asked of him before he left the ship 28.7 solar days ago.

He could hear Jim's voice now, as clearly as if he had never gone. "You need to question him, Sulu," he had said in those last painful minutes. "Not doubt him, but _question_ him – because sometimes you need somebody to do that in order to help you really see a situation. You need somebody you can trust – and somebody who you know trusts you – to get that done. I know you can do that."

Spock recalled Sulu's ready nod of assent. "I can; I will. You can count on me, Captain."

It was not Sulu's fault that he had not followed through with Jim's request of him - though Spock knew the man well enough to realize that he would take the blame for their lack of communication before he would ever place it upon his commanding officer. The strained expression he saw on his first officer's face made it only too clear that Hikaru felt as though he was somehow failing in his duty to support Spock as Jim had asked.

Spock was briefly surprised to hear himself sigh - typically, he rarely if ever sighed. This, however, was hardly a typical situation.

It had, Spock realized, been many days since he had been able to sleep or meditate adequately. He knew that his own gradually deteriorating physical condition was having an adverse effect on his ability to command, though he scarcely knew what to do about that; it was not, after all, as though he _chose_ not to sleep. It simply happened - or failed to happen, as the case might be. So far, he had resisted Dr. McCoy's none-too-subtle suggestions that a mild sedative might be in order - though Spock was well aware that the good doctor was monitoring his health alarmingly closely and would not be put off for much longer.

"Sir?" Though it had been only a matter of just over 17 seconds since Sulu's request of him, Spock was aware that his prolonged silence had caused some consternation on the part of both Hikaru and Nyota.

_These are people whom Jim trusted with his ship, and with his life._ It was illogical and unfair, Spock determined, for him to treat them in any other way. "Please forgive my lapse in attention, Nyota, Hikaru," he replied quietly. "You will no doubt understand that I am slightly more distractible than usual."

If he could have found anything remotely amusing at that moment, he would have enjoyed the surprised reaction that his sudden honesty provoked in both his colleagues. Instead, he inclined his head slightly toward Nyota - and he hoped that she would know that he meant it as much as an apology as an encouragement to continue.

"You said that you have found some anomalous readings in the records of the communications signals with the _Albiorix_, Lieutenant; please elaborate."

~o0o~

It was nearly midnight ship's time when he was awakened by the buzz of his personal communicator - so when McCoy got the message from Spock that he wanted the Command crew to join him in the main meeting room off the bridge immediately, he knew it was something important. Not the kind of important where things blew up - there weren't any alarms or flashing lights, thank God - but important, all the same. He rolled out of bed - regretting for probably the hundredth time in the past week that Nyota wasn't there with him - and pulled on his uniform. After all, if it was going to be an important meeting, he could hardly show up in a t-shirt and boxers.

Halfway to the turbolift it occurred to him - this was about Nyota's project to help locate Jim, it just had to be. They'd seen one another for just a few minutes at lunchtime, and she'd said that she and Chekov had found something they thought was significant; her biggest challenge now, she told him, was going to be convincing Spock that it was significant as well.

If he were a betting man, McCoy would put money on Nyota's chances, and told her so; even if Spock seemed to have his head wedged pretty firmly up his ass these days with Jim gone, he'd certainly listen to reason. And Nyota was nothing if not reasonable - and persuasive as hell, quite frankly. If anybody could get the hobgoblin's attention, it'd be her.

Sure enough, when he made it to the meeting room, it was Lieutenants Uhura and Chekov sitting at the head of the table, obviously waiting for Spock to get the proceedings started. Len gave Nyota an encouraging smile when he came in, though he elected to sit at the back of the room on purpose, just to keep potential distractions at a minimum.

At that moment, Spock came through the door that connected the conference room with the bridge. "Please remain seated," he said as a number of the crew members had begun to rise as he entered. He strode to the head of the long table where Pavel and Nyota were waiting for him.

"My apologies for having called this meeting at such an irregular hour," Spock began. "However, Lieutenants Uhura and Chekov have done some research on archived transmissions from the alien ship _Albiorix_ that might well provide us with information that will help us in our search for Captain Kirk." As this was probably the worst-kept secret among the Command crew - everyone knew what Nyota and Pavel had been working on - no one exhibited surprise at Spock's words.

"Since we all know that time is of the essence as we try to locate the captain," he continued, "I wished to disseminate the results of their research as soon as possible - hence this late meeting." Turning to Chekov and Uhura, he took his seat. "I would prefer that you both present this information to this gathering yourselves, rather than trying to summarize it myself."

It seemed that Nyota and Pavel were prepared to do exactly that, as they immediately launched into an explanation of their research and the data involved that mostly went right over McCoy's head. Sure, he'd taken the requisite Engineering courses that everyone needed at Starfleet, but he'd been Medical track - and for a long time as he sat through the discussion, he felt as though he was only understanding about every third sentence out of Nyota's mouth. (He didn't understand anything Chekov said at all - but since he frequently found Pavel more or less incomprehensible for one reason or another, that didn't seem too unusual.) Fortunately for all of them, Leonard supposed, Sulu, Spock and Scotty seemed to have a much more complete grasp on what was being presented, leaning forward in their seats with expressions of complete concentration.

After what seemed like a long time, Nyota met Len's eyes across the room. "With everyone's permission," she said with a slight smile, "I'll summarize our findings in Standard." Spock nodded briefly with a quickly appraising look in McCoy's direction, as if just now realizing that he was being left out of the conversation.

"It's like this," Nyota began. "Chekov and I looked through all the signals of any kind that were being emitted from the _Albiorix _since we've been here in Cardassian space. At first, we only saw the signals we were accustomed to - just your basic audio and video communication between them and us, them and Pike, them and… well, we don't really know who else, but they were communicating with someone. But," she continued, "we started running the data through a whole bunch of different filters on our computer - looking for something without knowing what we were looking for - and all of a sudden, we began to find some odd deviations every now and then. There were several large energy surges that weren't related to communications signals, any movement of the ship, or anything else as far as we could tell - but a couple of them had been absolutely huge. They weren't at any regular intervals, but we were pretty sure they meant something."

She stopped for breath, and Pavel cut in. "Finally, it hit us - the _Albiorix _had Cardassian technology, and we know that the Cardassians have a completely different transporter array than we do. When we looked at these deviations as possible transporter activity, all of a sudden everything fell into place. The energy patterns themselves, the size of the surges - it just couldn't be anything else."

And then it all made sense to the doctor, who looked quickly to Spock. "You sensed a difference in the bond with Jim."

"Yes, Doctor." Spock answered the unasked question. "One of those unexplained energy surges coincided exactly - almost to the second - with my having noted the change in the bond which I have previously mentioned to you. Such a change could definitely be caused by a sudden imposition of great physical distance between two bondmates."

"Great physical distance," McCoy echoed. "In terms of their technology - what we know of it, at least - how far could that be? Could they have sent Jim to another ship? Do we know if there even were other ships in the area?"

"The Cardassian transporter configurations are different than ours, but their potential range isn't any better, from what we've determined," Pavel replied. "Probably no more than 50,000 kilometers at the absolute maximum."

"And unless there was something out there with cloaking capabilities that the Cardassians don't have as far as we know," Hikaru continued, "there haven't been any other ships within that distance of either of us since we left Federation space."

"So…" McCoy's thoughts were flying. "Of the little planets, asteroids, whatever the hell you call these pieces of rock that we've got around here - are any of 'em able to support life as we know it?"

Nyota, Pavel, Hikaru and Spock answered him simultaneously. "Soukara."

~o0o~

* * *

~o0o~

"Commander." Sulu knew he likely looked as surprised as he felt to see his commanding officer standing at the door of his quarters. Alpha Shift had yet to begin - it would not for another hour and a half - and Hikaru had just recently changed into his uniform and finished the cup of coffee that would pass for his breakfast that morning.

"Good morning, Mr. Sulu," Spock said evenly, before looking meaningfully over Sulu's shoulder. "May I come in?"

"Oh, of course," Hikaru said quickly, feeling like an even bigger idiot than usual - which was saying something these days - and backing away to make room for Spock to enter. "Please."

Walking into the sparsely furnished cabin, Hikaru motioned toward a chair, waiting until Spock was seated before sitting in the room's other chair himself. He waited for a long moment for Spock to initiate a conversation; he almost certainly had something to say, or else he wouldn't have made the special trip to Hikaru's private quarters. For once, he was glad that Pavel was out for his morning run; just now, his fiancé would likely have been an uncomfortable third party to what was already turning out to be an unbelievably awkward encounter.

Spock remained silent for a little too long, and Sulu was unable to refrain from speaking. "What can I do for you, sir?" At this point, he had no idea what Spock wanted.

Another brief pause ensued before Spock answered. "As you can imagine, Mr. Sulu, given this new information about the possible whereabouts of the captain, I spent the night contemplating any number of courses of action as well as the likely consequences of each of them. It is, I find, rather… taxing."

He stopped again before looking at Hikaru with an expression that he'd seen on Spock's face before - just never directed at himself. It was almost… _vulnerable_, Hikaru thought, and something twisted in his chest at the sight of it.

"When… when Jim found himself in similar situations," Spock said, so quietly Sulu needed to lean forward to hear him, "he would frequently appear at my door unannounced, simply stating that he needed someone to 'bounce things off of.' And though I would not normally use such terminology," Spock continued, "I find myself in need of a similar resource. It occurred to me that as my first officer, you were the logical person to whom I could turn for this assistance."

Hikaru was vaguely aware that he was probably gaping at Spock, and made an effort to look unsurprised. "You know I'm here, sir, for whatever you need - so's my advice, for what it's worth."

"It is, as I believe you know, worth a great deal," Spock replied solemnly. "I am aware that I have made my own job more difficult by not taking advantage of your knowledge and good judgment over the course of these past weeks - an error that I hope to rectify now."

"So you'll go to Soukara." Sulu knew that he was cutting Spock off almost rudely, but was deeply concerned that his commanding officer's words - as greatly appreciated as they were - might be moving perilously close to an apology. That, quite frankly, was more than Hikaru could handle just now.

"I will admit that this is the course of action that seems most logical - and the one that I most wish to pursue." Spock seemed more grateful than offended to have been interrupted, much to Sulu's relief.

"Would you tell the 'Fleet that you were going? Because I could see that being a problem, sir."

"As could I, Mr. Sulu - but I do not feel as though I can leave the _Enterprise_ without making at least Admiral Pike aware of our change in circumstance, or our planned course of action."

"You know what they'll say, sir." Sulu's expression was grim. "They're not going to give any credence to what you do or don't sense through the bond - they'll tell us we have to assume that Jim is dead, and we'll have to get the _Enterprise_ out of enemy space."

"In other words, Hikaru, you would advise against my informing Starfleet of our plans?"

Hikaru sighed deeply before responding. "As hard as this is for me to say - because you know Jim always called me a 'goddamn Boy Scout' because I'm so big on following the rules - I'd say you can't tell them, sir. And here's my reasoning: as it stands, we're currently following Komack's official standing orders to use our best judgment. Those are the stupidest damn orders I've ever heard in my life, quite honestly, but for all that they were a disaster at the time that he gave them, they're working in our favor now - because this _is_ our best judgment. But if we go to the 'Fleet and ask for new instructions, we're not going to like what they tell us to do."

He watched Spock speculatively. "And if I have my guess, sir, if Starfleet gave us orders not to go looking for Jim, we'd disobey those orders. Am I correct?"

"They will give us those orders regardless of whether we ask for them - you know that as well as I do." Spock regarded his first officer gravely. "And if I leave the _Enterprise _to go in search of the captain, it will be you, not I, who will be in the position of being forced to openly defy those orders as the ship's commanding officer. It could mean your career; you must be aware of that."

And he was, of course - but hearing the words spoken aloud hit Sulu like a punch to the gut. "I'm well aware of it, sir. Doesn't change my opinion, or my advice."

He sat up even straighter, his voice suddenly urgent. "Because… the rules? Yeah, they're important. My principles are more important, though - and I'd never be able to look at myself in the mirror again if I thought we'd abandoned Jim when there's a good chance we could save him. He's been willing to sacrifice his life for me more times than I can count, sir - and in my opinion, that's worth more than a career."

Spock watched Sulu intently in silence for a good fifteen seconds, almost as though he had never seen him before. Then, to Sulu's surprise, he seemed to relax visibly, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs forward.

"I see now why Jim felt it valuable to share his thoughts with another person," he said, almost as if to himself. "It is surprising, the sense of relief that comes from having one's opinions validated in a highly volatile situation such as this one; I had not anticipated that."

To his own surprise, Hikaru found himself biting back a laugh. "Well, I could have told you that, sir."

"I have no doubt of that, Mr. Sulu. However, you may understand that Vulcans do not operate in such a fashion as a general rule."

Now Hikaru couldn't help smiling. "Then I'll have to remind you of what Jim always says to you at times like this." He put on his best "Captain Awesome" face and voice before continuing. "Don't forget, Spock - you _are _half human."

Spock's expression was suddenly unreadable. "I believe that Jim would appreciate you having given me that reminder, Hikaru - as do I."

As quickly as that odd, warm moment had come, it was gone - and Spock was quickly all business again. "I have not yet mentioned my plans to Dr. McCoy."

"You know he'll insist on coming with you, right?"

"I am well aware of this - and as much as I would prefer that he stay behind and care for the crew of the _Enterprise_, I know that he feels as strongly about the need to go and find the captain as I do myself. Moreover, I am also well aware that there is a high likelihood of Jim requiring medical services when we do find him - and we all know that no one can provide better care for Jim than Dr. McCoy."

"When are you going to mention this all to Leonard?"

"I had planned on speaking to him as soon as I had finished my conversation with you; there were questions I needed to settle in my own mind before making plans to depart the ship."

"What have you decided, sir? Are you going to tell Pike, or not?" Not that it mattered, Sulu thought - because Spock was right. They'd get orders to get the _Enterprise_ out of Cardassian space; they would then, Sulu vowed silently, proceed to ignore those orders.

"I have decided to take your advice, Mr. Sulu; you are correct, I believe, in your assertion that Starfleet would order us to abandon our search for the captain, and that is simply not acceptable."

Hikaru wasn't sure why that made him so happy - maybe it was just the thought that he had finally been of some actual use to Spock as a first officer.

Then it hit him suddenly… _first officer_.

Spock broke in, almost as if reading his thoughts. "If I am not mistaken, I would imagine that Dr. McCoy and I will depart for Soukara as soon as we can have the necessary supplies prepared." In their research of the planet, they had discovered that Soukara had transporter inhibitors that allowed only Cardassian technology to function on its surface; Spock and McCoy would have to take a shuttlecraft down to the planet instead of teleporting. "Before that happens, though, I would like to make sure that your own Command crew is settled and prepared for what may happen after our departure."

He stopped almost mid-sentence, watching Sulu closely. "I told you on the day that the captain left the _Enterprise_ that you would have been my own first choice for first officer. However, I was glad to have had Jim make the choice for me, as I felt that my own… preoccupation with other events might have kept me from making my best decisions. For that reason," he went on, "I will do the same for you, and choose your second-in-command."

On one hand, Hikaru heard Spock's words with profound relief that he would be told, not asked, who would be serving as his first officer. On the other - well, it didn't really matter. There really wasn't anyone on the ship with whom he couldn't work well, and he knew that.

Spock was still speaking. "Unless you have an objection to my choice, I believe it would be only logical to promote Lt. Chekov to first officer in my absence."

Sulu felt himself falling back into the scant padding of the chair back. "I… I don't object, sir. Not at all. But are you sure, all things considered, that…" he trailed off, uncertain how to finish his sentence.

"I am entirely sure, Hikaru. Let us look at the situation objectively. Of the officers currently serving on board, only Lt. Cmdr. Scott is of equal rank with you. He has steadfastly refused to be given Command responsibilities during his tenure on the_ Enterprise _- and both Jim and I have agreed that he is at his most effective when placed in charge of machinery rather than personnel. Of the other senior officers, Chekov is the one with whom you have developed the closest working relationship, as the two of you have shared duties at the helm now for over two years. You are tuned in to one another's personal habits on the bridge, and you are both aware of how an effective relationship between Captain and First should operate."

Still leaning slightly back in his own chair, Spock steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "As to your personal relationship - since I am supposing that is what has caused you some distress at this point - I believe it will serve to make your Command team all the stronger."

He tilted his head slightly, almost regretfully. "You suffered as my first officer, Hikaru, because I failed to trust you as Jim had asked me to - and the ship as a whole suffered as well. There will never be a question of whether you can trust Pavel, or confide in him - and you will know that you can give your all to the _Enterprise _and that Pavel will be at your side to support you at all times."

"But, sir… everyone knows that we're in love with one another. Don't you think that could cause a problem with the crew?" More than anything - more than _anything_ - Hikaru wanted Pavel to be his first officer. But he had to know that Spock was sure about his choice, and he had to know exactly why.

"Hikaru." Spock sounded almost as though he was patiently explaining something to a small child. "It has been brought to my attention by more than one member of my own Command crew - yourself included, I believe - that everyone on board knew that Jim and I were in love with one another long before either of us were aware of the situation." He stopped, waited. "It did not seem to, as you put it, 'cause a problem with the crew' then, did it?"

Hikaru laughed, somewhat unsteadily. "No. No, sir, it didn't."

"Very well, then." Spock rose gracefully from his chair, with Hikaru rapidly following suit. "I have to go to Sickbay to speak to Dr. McCoy; I trust you will speak with Lt. Chekov." He turned when he reached the door, speaking over his shoulder. "When I have a better idea as to the time frame of our departure, I will call you so that we can schedule a meeting to plan for any contingencies we might be able to foresee in my absence, and to see that command is transferred as smoothly as possible."

"Yes, sir," Sulu said to the closing door before sinking back into the chair again to try to organize his thoughts; the last time he'd felt his head spinning like this, he'd at least had a concussion to show for it.

But it would be all right - he knew it would. Not that he thought he'd be the best captain that Starfleet had ever seen - hell, one of his first acts as commanding officer would probably involve defying direct orders, and wouldn't that just be awesome? - but he'd be the best captain he knew how to be. And he knew without a doubt that he'd have the unflinching support of everyone on board; the crew would have his back.

Most importantly, he'd have Pavel. There wasn't anything he couldn't do with Pavel at his side - and if that sounded sappy as hell, it was only the truth.

Just then, the door whooshed open again, and Pavel himself appeared, perspiring and slightly winded from his run.

"Saw Spock in the corridor on the way back here - everything all right?" He was watching Hikaru carefully, concern in those all-too-perceptive blue eyes.

Hikaru nodded briefly in reply. "It's all good, Pav," he said. "Go shower - then I'll tell you about it."

"Is there news?"

"You could say that, yeah."

~o0o~

* * *

_**Yes, there's news, Pasha.** And Spock and Bones are going to go find Jim! Well... they're going to go look for Jim. How about that?_

_And because it's not the end of one of my chapters otherwise, I'll remind you how much I love to hear from you!_

* * *

**Now: one of those long A/N's you can ignore:** Since I put a bunch of my Chulu and K/S stuff on my LJ account, I've had several people asking me chronology questions about this 'verse - so just to be clear, here's how the stories go in terms of when they took place (_not_ when they were written):

1) Stay  
2) Eighteen  
3) Both Ways  
4) Sestina

I did the math, and realized that I have well over a quarter of a million words out there in this "Both Ways/Sestina" 'verse - and that's a little scary, frankly.

If you read them out of order, it shouldn't be too traumatic - but bear in mind that there is a timeline!

**And off any topic at all** - I've had a random urge to commission some arts for... well, never you mind what for. If you know anyone who you think is awesome, PM me and let me know!


	29. The Very Real Possibility

_First - my sincere apologies for both the lengthy delay and the brevity of this chapter. _

_I hope to do more writing, and longer chapters, soon. _

* * *

**_Better to be without logic than without feeling._**

_Charlotte Brontë_

* * *

"McCoy to Sulu - you awake, or am I interrupting something I don't want to hear about?"

Hikaru noticed that the CMO's voice over his communicator sounded significantly more cheerful than it had for a while - which probably came as a result of their now having at least a vague idea of where Jim may have been taken. They'd gone from just being stuck in enemy space to being stuck in enemy space with a plan for what to do next - and if that cheered McCoy up, then Sulu got that, because it cheered him up, too. A whole lot.

Weird what could make them smile these days.

"Yeah, I'm awake, Doc - and no, you're about five minutes too late to have interrupted -"

"I clearly recall saying I don't want to hear about it, Hikaru. So shut up."

"All right, then. What's going on?"

"Need you down here in Sickbay - no rush, but as soon as you get your clothes on."

"You know, Leonard, for someone who doesn't want to hear about it, you seem pretty fixated on the details. You _sure_ you wouldn't like me to tell you about my morning? Or, hey - Pavel's right here," Hikaru said, smiling over at Pavel who in turn was watching him with barely-suppressed amusement. "I could put him on, if you'd rather hear from him."

"I fucking hate you, Sulu." Those words were belied by the fact that McCoy was laughing as he said them, and Hikaru couldn't help smiling at that himself. "Drag your ass down here, stat."

McCoy's prurient imaginings aside, Hikaru had in fact been dressed and ready to leave his quarters when the intercom had buzzed, so it was only a matter of a couple of minutes when he had arrived at Sickbay.

"Here I am, Doc - what can I do for you?"

"Oh, hey, Sulu." The CMO looked up from the paperwork that was, as usual, all over his desk. "Not a thing just right now - but I did want to give you a heads up that for the time being, you're in command."

Sulu felt a brief jump of alarm before he took a moment to think; of course, if anything untoward had happened to Spock, McCoy wouldn't be nearly so circumspect about it - so he could be pretty sure nothing was really wrong. But…

"Don't guess you'd mind clarifying that, Doctor?"

Leonard had the oddest smile on his face as he rose from his chair; Hikaru's grandmother had called that expression "the cat who ate the canary."

"Wouldn't mind a bit, Sulu. Come with me, will you?"

Everything made perfect sense to Hikaru just a moment later, when they turned the corner into the private alcove of Sickbay that was usually reserved for Jim and his notoriously frequent visits. There, lying silently on the biobed, was an unconscious Commander Spock.

"You sedated him into next week, just like you said you would, didn't you?" The doctor had been threatening Spock for days with exactly such a move if he didn't take more care to get regular rest and nourishment.

"Before you tell me why that was a terrible idea, you've gotta understand how badly he was deteriorating. He -"

"I wasn't going to tell you any such thing, Doc," Sulu interrupted. "I know as well as anybody that he was reaching a breaking point. And if you two are going to leave the ship and go looking for Jim on Soukara, then Spock is going to have to build some of his reserves back up first."

The doctor froze, staring at him blankly. "How did you know I was going to try to get him to let me go along?"

Hikaru smiled slightly. "I don't think anybody thought anything differently, ever. And I'm guessing the two of you didn't have time to discuss it before you took to Spock with the hypo, but he'd told me that he planned on bringing you along as well."

"When did he say that?" McCoy eyed the sleeping Spock suspiciously, as though not quite willing to believe what Sulu had said.

"Not an hour ago, when he visited me and told me I needed to prepare to take command soon. He's ready to go, Doc." Sulu gestured somewhat vaguely at the Vulcan who lay in front of them. "Well, he's obviously not ready _now_ - but let's just say he's not going to want to delay once you think he's up to it."

"I see." Leonard stopped for just a moment, examining the monitors over Spock's biobed. "Don't know exactly when that'll be, Sulu - but it ought not to be too long. Matter of days at the most, if I had to guess. The hypo I gave him is just something that brings on a Vulcan healing trance when the patient has problems initiating one himself. The Vulcans came up with the technology themselves not long after they lost their planet - a bunch of them lost the ability to start a healing trance on their own, and they were dying of things that don't normally kill 'em." He picked up his PADD, entering some data before continuing. "Spock's not all that bad off, obviously - just exhausted, malnourished, and dehydrated - but I sure can't take him out looking for Jim until he's in a lot closer to good shape."

Sulu regarded him in silence for a long moment. "Does Nyota know?"

The doctor blew out a gusty sigh. "Do you mean to ask if I've talked to her about it? No - I tell myself it's because I haven't had the time, but it feels a lot more like I haven't had the nerve. But whether I've talked to her about it or not, I'm pretty sure she's got a good idea of what's going on. That woman's a lot of things - and stupid ain't never been on that list."

Hikaru inclined his head in agreement. "You're right there - on all counts, I'd say. I haven't seen that much of her in the past couple of days - we've all been just about stretched to the limit - but she's acted a little… well, _subdued_ is as good a word as any, I guess. If I know Nyota - and you know I do - she's figured out that you're going to want to go with Spock to find Jim."

Sulu's expression, already serious, became almost grim as he continued. "That doesn't get you off the hook, though. She deserves to hear it from you."

McCoy drew himself up to his full height, so that he could look down at the other man. "You tellin' me that as my commanding officer?"

"No, I'm not, and you know it. I'm telling you as one of her best friends - and one of your friends, too, idiot." Sulu shook his head in exasperation. "You know you've been feeling guilty about not mentioning it to her, or you wouldn't be so damn defensive about it now."

"I know." He blew out the short, gusty sigh again. "And I'm sorry I bit your head off, really." They took the few short steps back to the CMO's office, and McCoy closed the door behind them.

"But… how do I tell her that there's a very real possibility that I don't come back to her?"

Hikaru's expression was decidedly grim now. "We'll be out here waiting for you in Cardassian space for as long as it takes for you to find Jim and bring him back - or for as long as we can survive out here. Has it occurred to _you_ that there's a very real possibility that we won't be here to come back to?"


	30. Where You Come From and Where You Are

**_To everyone who has read, followed, favorited and reviewed this piece in the time since I last updated - this is dedicated to you, with my everlasting gratitude for your kind words, support and patience. I promise you won't have so long to wait for your next installment - it really is almost ready to write, but my RL BFF T'Key'la told me that y'all would be really pleased if I at least published this much since I had it ready to go now, and I always trust her advice. Hope you enjoy it!_**

~oOo~

* * *

_~oOo~_

_"Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to was never there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it. Where is there a place for you to be? No place... Nothing outside you can give you any place... In yourself right now is all the place you've got."_  
― Flannery O'Connor

~oOo~

* * *

~oOo~

He'd thought it was hot in Georgia in July, or in Mississippi in August. He remembered the feeling of waking up back home to air so thick with humidity and the sound and smell of swarming cicadas that it was almost too much effort even to roll out of bed in the morning. This, McCoy thought with a slight, disgusted shake of his head, was a hundred times worse. Maybe even more than that. Clouds of water vapor hung just above the dank floor of decaying vegetation upon which his sleeping bag rested, and every breath was filled with the steamy, cloying smell of gaudy tropical blooms that nearly made him gag.

For all that he'd had a miserably insufficient night's sleep – scarcely more than a few hours – he knew that he'd might as well get up. Sunlight was weakly filtering through the thick green foliage above them – it hadn't been light for long, he could tell, but the day was already starting to heat up. A quick glimpse to his immediate left let him know that Spock was still standing watch – or at least sitting watch, leaning stiffly against what McCoy stubbornly continued to refer to as a tree, even though the damn hobgoblin steadfastly insisted that the larger vegetation on Soukara had "different internal structural components from any known plant life on Earth, and therefore could not be accurately described as trees."

They'd honestly argued about whether or not the damn thing was a tree for the better part of an hour last night – kind of ironic, McCoy thought, in that he was pretty sure that neither of them gave a flying fuck what the plant life was or wasn't called on this seething jungle hell-hole of a planet. But the argument gave them something else to discuss besides what was eating both of them alive: they'd been down here on the surface of Soukara now for nearly three weeks, and there was still no sign of Jim.

With a grunt, McCoy heaved himself into a seated position, well aware that Spock, without once glancing in his direction, had known the very second he'd woken up. He rubbed his eyes wearily, but the haze in his vision was still there when he finished. There simply wasn't any clear air to be had on this planet – and he thought he'd just about kill for a breeze, or anything to shift the godawful, oppressive heat.

"So, what do you think we should try today?" He couldn't meet Spock's eyes as he asked, knowing that Spock probably hated hearing that question every damn morning as much as Leonard hated asking it. But he had to rely on the Vulcan's encyclopedic research about the planet Soukara, as well as the far less scientific but far more important feelings that continued to endure through his bond with Jim.

"I see no reason as yet to discontinue our search in this sector, Doctor." Spock's voice was calm, and he continued to look straight ahead instead of at McCoy – but Leonard knew Spock well enough by now to know that the whole "calm" business was no more than a façade, and that Spock was every bit as overwrought as he himself was about their continued inability to find Jim.

They'd arrived on the planet via shuttle, since the Dominion had long since scrambled any kind of transporter technology on Soukara – and as a result, a lot of their travel around the planet had taken significantly longer than it would have had they simply been able to beam from one place to another instead of traveling in the somewhat cumbersome shuttlecraft or, even more inefficiently, on foot. For all that Soukara was a fairly good-sized planet, their search was aided by the fact that much of the surface was rendered uninhabitable by climate extremes and lack of water; the thugs who had Jim could only have brought him to the rain forests of the equatorial region.

"You still get the feeling that he's close?" McCoy carefully kept his attention on folding his bedroll as he spoke, still avoiding eye contact with Spock. He hated to be such a goddamn pest, he really did – but the simple _not knowing_ was beginning to get to him.

"I sense Jim's presence," Spock replied quietly. "You must understand that this is a very new and relatively unstructured bond between the two of us – and even the best-developed of Vulcan bonds does not serve as a homing device, Doctor."

McCoy sighed heavily. "I know it doesn't, Spock, and I'm sorry to keep after you with my idiot questions. But…"

"I understand." Now Spock had turned away, and was putting away some of the equipment that they had used during the previous night at their rudimentary camp site. "And although the questions you ask tend to be repetitive and do not make our search for the Captain more effective in any way, I do not object to your continuing to ask them if you gain some comfort by doing so."

McCoy found himself uncharacteristically speechless; oddly, that was one of the kindest things Spock had ever said to him. But before he could reply, and without another word in McCoy's direction, Spock was walking purposefully away from the clearing where they had made camp, obviously ready to resume their search for Jim. To the doctor's poorly-concealed dismay, it became clear that Spock thought their best option was to head toward the densely forested – and dauntingly tall – mountains that loomed ahead in the near distance.

Three hours later, Spock still had yet to say another word, and McCoy was using all of his spare breath to keep up with the Vulcan's somewhat unnerving pace as they struggled through the underbrush that covered the increasingly steep foothills. _All of this is for Jim_, Leonard thought, _and it's all worth it_.

Suddenly, Leonard was reminded of the training drills as a new recruit at Starfleet Academy, when his legs had felt like rubber and his lungs had seemed ready to burst – and it was either give in to the exhaustion or fight back. Stubborn cuss that he was, Leonard McCoy had fought back – which was how the rest of his recruiting class at the Academy had all learned to shout the Ole Miss fight song at the top of their lungs during particularly grueling marches.

_Fuck all of you sick bastards_, he thought now as he followed Spock's determined stride up the hill. _You might have taken Jim, but you damn well can't keep him_.

Seemed like as good a time as any for a fight song, if for no other reason than to keep up his own nerve – and his voice echoed just a bit in the nearby ravines as he started to shout.

_"Are you ready? Hellll **yes**! Daaamn **right**! Hotty Toddy, gosh almighty who the hell are we? Hey! Flim flam, bim bam, Ole Miss, by damn!"_

Spock, a few meters ahead, spun swiftly to glare incredulously at McCoy, who held out a warning hand to stem the beginning of what was sure to be a scorching reprimand.

"For Christ's sake, man, I know. I know we're not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves. I was only doing it the once, to keep myself going – I'm done now."

The furious look on Spock's face quickly faded, replaced by the expression that McCoy recognized as something like scientific curiosity.

"Doctor," he began, "I have no idea what you were just shouting, or why. Would you care to explain?"

It turned out, Leonard discovered as he attempted the explanation on their slow and steady march up the hill, that the concept of a "fight song" was not nearly as easily made clear as he had anticipated it might be.

"How," Spock asked, clearly baffled, "is this considered a 'fight song'when it is neither genuinely a song nor used by combatants in an actual battle?"

McCoy realized fairly soon that the idea of a big football game was going to be completely impossible to describe to Spock in any way he'd understand – so he made up his mind quickly that he wasn't going to try. Not that he minded answering the question – he really didn't, especially since the hours and hours of silent marching day after day had gotten to be both monotonous and painfully lonely. A semi-friendly conversation about a neutral topic? That was just about as good as it was going to get for now.

"It's like this," he began. "Before a big game at our school – this was the University of Mississippi in Oxford, but we called it Ole Miss – we'd try to get the crowd and the team pumped up so that... well, honestly, I can't give you a good frame of reference, since you've got – you had – nothing like football or any of this shit on Vulcan."

He rubbed one hand distractedly through his hair before stopping suddenly as he had a flash of inspiration. "So how can I... well, all right. Imagine that Starfleet Academy was going up against the Vulcan Science Academy in a chess tournament. You'd want the Starfleet team to get mentally prepared – you know, confident, enthusiastic, maybe even out for a little bit of blood – for the tournament. Obviously – admit it – you'd want to see Starfleet hand the VSA their asses. You'd use a fight song for something like that. Really get the team going."

Spock stopped in his tracks, fixing McCoy with a long, indecipherable look. "Although the analogy seems highly unusual, it does make some sense for the purposes of helping me to comprehend the reasoning behind using what you would call a fight song."

He paused again, tilting his head at a slight angle. "That said, your understanding of Vulcan physiology is even more flawed than I had initially believed if you suppose that our asses, as you so bluntly put it, are detachable and can be handed to us in some fashion by another species."

McCoy heard himself laugh before he'd even realized he was going to do it, staring at Spock incredulously. "I'll be a son of a bitch, Jim was serious – you really do make jokes, don't you?" He shook his head with a smile. "And coming from you, they're actually pretty damn funny. Who the hell even knew?"

Spock turned then without replying and continued up the hill. Neither man spoke again until they made camp over seven hours later – but this time, Leonard realized that the silence didn't bother him quite as much as it had before.

He really wasn't as alone as he had felt down here, after all.

~oOo~

* * *

~oOo~

"I think I figured out why I was yelling the 'Hotty Toddy' down the hill this morning." McCoy had unrolled his sleeping pallet, and resumed the conversation from earlier in the day as if it had never been interrupted. It was his turn to do the second night watch tonight – the planet's slow rotation meant that nights on Soukara were long enough that it was impractical for one person to stay up for the entire shift – so he had to at least try to get to sleep early.

Spock, sitting cross-legged and leaning slightly against a rock wall, turned to look at him with an unusual degree of curiosity. "Indeed," he said softly. "What conclusion did you reach?"

Throwing an arm over his eyes, McCoy sighed. "It… it reminds me of a time when I felt invincible."

"Because of your youth, Doctor?"

Leonard cracked an eye open to look at Spock to see if he was genuinely interested, or just making conversation. It occurred to him then that this was _Spock_ – Hell would freeze over before he'd be just making conversation. Oddly warmed by Spock's unexpected inquiry, he went on.

"My youth? Yeah, well, I'm sure that was part of it. But also because at that point, I'd never really... well, I'd never _lost_. I'd never lost a patient, or a wife – and certainly not a child. I hadn't misplaced my best friend on some planet that might get him killed, and I hadn't had to say goodbye for God only knows how long to a woman who loves me like I've never been loved before."

He swallowed hard around the sudden tightness in his throat. "I was just... well, I was just all me, and hadn't left parts of myself behind all over the time-space continuum. I was young, and strong, and I'd never been broken." McCoy stopped, sighed again. "But I don't suppose that makes any sense to you."

There were a few beats of silence before Spock replied quietly. "You might be surprised by that, Doctor – my own experience is not entirely dissimilar to yours."

He looked away from McCoy, making conspicuous if not entirely necessary adjustments to his own bedroll before continuing. "Bearing these similarities in mind, I will make a hypothesis, which is this: At the time of your life that you mentioned, you did indeed feel invincible, in part because you had not experienced the losses to which you refer."

Giving up his pretense of being busy elsewhere, Spock returned his full attention to the doctor. "However, you also had never possessed any of the things that you have now lost – patients whose lives depended upon your care, a wife and daughter, a best friend, or a woman to truly love you. I suspect that you therefore would not, in fact, willingly return to the period in your life where these elements had not been present."

McCoy was sitting up now, propped on his elbows and staring at Spock with surprised hazel eyes. "You're saying, 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?"

"Actually," Spock replied, "I believe the Terran poet Tennyson is the source of that quote, but my idea is essentially the same."

Leonard huffed a small, disbelieving laugh. "Am I really discussing_ love_ with a – with _you_?"

Spock tilted his head again as he had earlier in the day, slightly raising one eyebrow in a way that looked almost quizzical. "So it would seem, Doctor. And, if I may say so, your self-restraint is admirable."

"Self-restraint?" McCoy sounded indignant. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Now it was both eyebrows. "You have managed, for the first time in the years of our acquaintance, to consciously avoid referring to some element of my physiology – such as the color of my blood or the shape of my ears – in a disparaging fashion when speaking of me."

McCoy felt unreasonably pleased with himself. "Well, yeah – I guess I did, Spock. Who knows? Maybe I'll get this diplomacy thing figured out yet."

"The likelihood of that is so miniscule as to approach complete impossibility, Doctor." He had no idea what it was about Spock's expression that let him know that he wasn't serious – he was just giving Leonard shit – but whatever it was in that expression, it made McCoy smile, broadly and unexpectedly. Maybe the two of them hadn't just been blowing sunshine up Jim's ass before he'd left them – maybe they really could manage to be friends, real friends, after all.

He gave the Vulcan a long look, knowing that Spock was reading his expressions, too, and that it was honestly all right. "Spock... we're stuck here with each other for God knows how long, and we, well... well, shit, Spock. Call me Leonard."

~oOo~

* * *

**_So... you know I'd be thrilled to hear from you, right?_**


End file.
